Memory of Colors
by Resha04
Summary: In this world bursting with colors, all yellow and green and red and blue and violet and everything that is life, he sees himself only as blue and purple and red and black.
1. Crayons

He was seven.

Sitting on the floor,

drawing with his brother.

Little brother with red hair,

smiling, one tooth missing, chubby cheeks

bright eyes,

one hand around the crayons

red for the roof

orange for the wall

light blue for the sky

yellow for the sun.

Sunflowers in the yard

a cat next to the door

light brown soil.

A little brother on the same age.

He was seven.

Sitting on the floor,

older brother and little brother

drawing together.

Big brother with brown hair,

a light scowl, tongue stuck out, puffed out cheeks

darker eyes,

one hand around the crayons.

Brown for the roof

cream for the wall

blue for the sky

gold for the sun.

Tomato plants on the yard

a squirrel among them

dark brown soil.

A big brother on the same age.


	2. Sons

And she entered the room,

a young mother

hazel eyes

dark hair.

Her two boys are drawing, how cute.

And she approached, silently, not wanting to disturb.

Crayons scattered on the floor,

the room was a mess.

But her two boys were having fun,

and she didn't mind for once.

It's done, the younger exclaimed, cheerful and innocent

bright just like her.

But it was the older who turned

noticing her and blushed, still scowling

sharp just like her.

Would you let mom see them?

Smiling, stretching out her palm.

Innocently, the red-head handed to her,

the bright picture,

sincere just like _him_.

Hesitantly, the older did the same,

the slightly calmer (darker) picture,

deep just like _him_.

She studied both.

She thought both were beautiful.

She loved both.

And she told them that,

watching as the younger beamed,

just like _him_ when she said yes

and the older's eyes widened slightly,

just like her when he proposed.

And she hugged them both,

just like the time,

after he slipped the ring,

modest and plain,

into her finger,

tightly and happily

and thankfully.


	3. Difference

The young father came home

weary and wanted no more than food and sleep

his wife was beautiful as always

as she untied his tie

plain black just like he liked it to be.

Smiling, she said,

"The dinner was ready,

and look at what the children are doing.

They're lovely."

He kissed her on the cheek, smiling

weary but decided to take a look

his two boys were drawing

crayons were scattered on the floor

but he didn't mind

it was not something to be angry about

it was not something wrong.

"What are my boys doing?" he asked

both turned around

one beamed upon seeing him

the other scowled lightly and mumbled something.

He hugged the smiling

and ruffled the scowling's hair.

The smiling one showed him his drawing

colorful and bright and innocent

red

yellow

orange

light blue

it made him smile

he hugged his cute son, making him giggle

tickled him and sent him to laughter

"It's wonderful," he said.

Regaining his breath, he asked the other one for his

but the boy shook his head, eyes averted

he didn't understand why not

he reached behind his boy and took the drawing

ignoring as the kid yelped and tried to take it back

it was the same drawing

with different colors

calming and slightly darker

and he wondered why

brown

cream

gold

blue

it silenced him.

"It's good," he said

ruffling the boy's hair.

Dinner's ready, he heard from the kitchen

and he lifted the smiling onto his shoulders

and gave the other a light slap to the back.

The dinner smelled so good.


	4. Smile

they had pasta for dinner mom's pasta.

it smelled so good and it tasted much more good

he loved pasta and he loved mom's pasta

and he was sure _fratello_ loved it too because he was smiling

mom's pasta was always the best

but dad wasn't smiling and mom wasn't too

so he asked what's wrong

and dad only gave him a ruffle to his hair

and mom only smiled and said nothing's wrong

if there was nothing wrong why didn't dad smile?

why was mom's smile so forced?

and why did _fratello_ stop smiling?

but they said nothing's wrong so it must be

maybe they were just sad that there was no more pasta for seconds

so he asked if dad or mom or _fratello_ wanted some of his

it was so delicious and he wanted them to smile and delicious meal could make them

but none of them wanted to

so he guessed he would just finish his

and maybe dad would laugh and say that's my boy

and maybe mom would smile and praise him for finishing his meal without leftover

and maybe _fratello_ would scowl again like usual and finish his quickly because he hated to lose

and maybe everything would be fine

after his plate was polished clean they still didn't smile

mom's was still forced dad was still not and _fratello_ was still silent

and he was sad because he didn't like it

everyone should be happy and smiling

especially the people he loved the most

mom stood up and cleaned the dishes

dad was still sitting

and _fratello_ got off from his chair and took his hand

small hand in small one and he giggled

trying to tangle his fingers against _fratello_'s

so concentrated in his effort he didn't realize they were in their room

cream colored wallpaper and bright bedcovers

and _fratello_ said let's draw

he was excited he bounced around the room releasing _fratello_'s fingers

he loved drawing!

_fratello_ yelled at him to stop and get papers and crayons

and he closed the door behind him

papers and crayons were ready

he picked red yellow light blue and orange

_fratello_ picked blue gold brown cream and purple

_fratello_ picked one new color!

so he wanted to too

and he picked the green one

one that _fratello_ usually used to color the tomatoes' leaves

he was happy today they ate delicious pasta

and got to pick a new color

although no one was smiling just now

but maybe they could draw something new too

not house or sky or sun or sunflowers or cat

maybe he could draw a bigger house

but _fratello_ said he wanted to draw a car

a cool car just like the one uncle next door drove

and he giggled and said if _fratello_ draws a car then I'll draw the house so the car will have somewhere to park

_fratello_ agreed and smiled a little

and he was happy if _fratello_ was happy

their room was quiet

the night wind blew outside

the door was thick

and he was happy because they were safe there

mom and dad were outside

they would be safe

and _fratello_ drew a purple big car

he drew a yellow two-stories house with green courtyard

hey, maybe tomorrow they could draw mom and dad and two sons all smiling as well?

* * *

><p><strong>The present tense in past sentences are not mistakes<strong>


	5. Noise

He didn't like noises

He didn't like the loud ones

Because even when he covered his ears they wouldn't go away

Not completely

But these days dad and mom were always yelling

And he didn't like it one bit

He hated it

Because they yelled at each other.

He was scared, what happened?

Mom and dad, what happened between them?

His brother didn't understand, and asked him

But how would he answer

if he didn't know either?

Big brother should know more, he told himself

So one day he decided to ask mom.

But mom was weird, she didn't smile, she didn't get angry

She had her coat on

there were luggage outside

was there a guest?

His brother stood beside her, confused

And mom knelt down and looked at him

her eyes were weird, they weren't happy they weren't angry

she hugged him and whispered words

"I'm sorry,

I'm sorry,

I'm sorry.

I'll come back, I promise

I'll come back for you

I promise

I love you."

She kissed his forehead, her lips were soft

and they were strangely wet

but she smelled nice, smelled of mother

and he inhaled and inhaled and almost smiled

but she pulled away

and took his brother's hand

little brother didn't understand, and he asked

big brother didn't understand either, but he kept silent

but mom didn't answer, only walked away

and after they were gone it was silent

there were no longer loud noises

no longer yelling

but he didn't like it one bit.


	6. Home

it was a new apartment, yaaayyyyy

it had cream colored walls, just like _fratello_'s wall

the couch was red, like his roof

the boy was happy, the place smelled good

but he was sad, it was faraway from home

how could he show _fratello_ and dad this new place if they were that far?

mom smiled, but it was forced

this new place was nice, but he wanted to go home

he didn't know why mom was sad, maybe because they weren't home

and dad and _fratello _ weren't here

he tugged mom's sleeve and said let's go home

and maybe dad wouldn't yell at mom anymore

maybe dad yelled at her because he didn't like this new place

then let's go home

mom said this is home

and he didn't understand, this was not home

home was where dad was, where _fratello _was, where mom would cook, where pasta smelled good

where he felt safe

this place was nice and he liked it but he didn't feel safe

mom said this is home

and she put him on the couch, gave him paper and his crayons

she took out things from their bags

their things

his shirts, his socks, his raincoat, his shoes, his doll

he didn't understand why

and he remembered that he and _fratello_ promised

to draw something new today, something else

not house not car not tomatoes not sunflowers

he could do it here

so he could show _fratello_ when they got home

so he drew mom's bag

green like his courtyard and _fratello_'s leaves

he drew the dishes mom was organizing

white like his clouds and _fratello_'s door

he drew the couch

red like his roof and _fratello_'s tomatoes

and he felt at home.


	7. Chores

Dad got home and he was upset

Like he always was these days

The house was quiet, so he didn't understand

why dad was.

Dad yelled at him, said why the house was a mess

he didn't have the chance to explain

that he tried to clean

but the broom was too long for him

and he knocked the bookshelf down

he tried to get it back up but it was really heavy

he tried to wash the dishes but he couldn't find a stool

he tried to clean his room but he ended up searching,

searching for his brother's things.

He didn't have the chance to ask

why little brother's clothes were gone

where his kitty doll was, squirrel was lonely

where did his crayons go

why weren't there his drawings anywhere

he didn't have the chance to.

Because dad yelled again,

Said "Why am I stuck with you?"

What did he mean, stuck?

In his dictionary, stuck means "be unable to get rid of or escape from"

Why did dad want to escape from him?

Did he do something wrong?

Dad continued, "You're useless,

Can't you do anything right?"

Yes, he could.

He wanted to answer but he couldn't, because dad had already disappeared into his room

then maybe he could show him next time

maybe tomorrow

he wouldn't knock the bookshelf down again

he would use chair if there was no stool

he would clean his room and maybe find his brother's things

he would draw a really good picture

then maybe dad would smile again like usual

then maybe mom and little brother would come back.


	8. Geography

It was a new school

Red bricks, brown roof, green wide courtyard

And many new friends

It was a new class, how exciting

Honey brown desks, pictures on the wall, grey lockers

And many new friends

Ms. Elizaveta was pretty and nice

She smiled and her eyes were shining

So green and so beautiful, just like his courtyard and _fratello_'s leaves

He sat next to Feliks, Polish he claimed

He had a strange accent, it was cute

He introduced him to his best friend, Toris he said

Lithuanian, where is Lithuania?

Toris smiled and said he would show him in geography

He was excited, he loved geography, he loved map

Too bad _fratello_ wasn't here today

Maybe dad would bring him here tomorrow?

And he could meet Feliks the Polish and Toris the Lithuanian

They could play together and look at maps together

Geography was tomorrow, the schedule said

He hoped _fratello_ would be here then.

Feliks asked what was he

He answered, Italian

Feliks asked where is Italy

He didn't know, but Toris said it's okay, let's look for it together tomorrow

He said Italy was pasta

delicious and smelled good and full of home

He said Italy was green white and red

green like _fratello_'s leaves

white like _fratello'_s door

red like _fratello_'s tomatoes

they asked who was his _fratello_

and he answered that he would be here tomorrow

and they smiled to him and said they were looking forward to it

he smiled back and said he was too

then they would study geography together

see maps and learn where Poland is

where Lithuania is

where Italy is.


	9. Colors

There was a piece of paper in front of him

still white, still plain, still empty

there were crayons around him

still unused, still silent

and he was sitting on the floor, eyebrows scrunched together

lips formed a pout

what would he draw? He thought

red blue yellow brown orange green

it would form a nice forest!

He took the brown one

making the tree trunks

the green one for the leaves and the grass

red one for apples that fell from their trees

blue for a river near it, for the sky

purple for the flowers

it was a nice drawing, he liked it.

Maybe dad would like it too,

maybe he would smile (he hoped so), and mom would come back

and little brother would surely too.

The little boy smiled, hope in his eyes.

There, dad was home

the sound of the front door and the clicking of his shoes

the little boy was out of his room

greeting his dad, one hand behind his back, holding his drawing

dad didn't answer and didn't smile, only nodded

but he didn't yell, the boy was glad

he did his chores well today.

He swept the floor, didn't knock down anything

he washed the dishes, the chair was heavy and he sprained his wrist but it was okay

he cleaned his room, but was sad because he couldn't find his brother's things

he was really bad at cleaning then, wasn't he?

If he wasn't, he would have found them.

But it was no time to be sad, dad was home.

He waited until dad sat down on the chair, untying his tie

and he showed him the picture.

Dad didn't smile, he didn't say anything.

Finished untying his tie, he left for his room, murmuring no need for dinner.

Maybe his drawing was bad.

He remembered what mom taught them

red, yellow, orange for a happy drawing

blue, purple, green for a peaceful drawing

his drawing was too full of peaceful, and dad needed happiness.

He got another paper, and sat down on the floor again

picked out red, yellow, and orange crayons

and pushed away blue, green, and purple crayons

he remembered about his brother's favorite colors to use

light blue must be a happy color too.

He drew another picture,

red roses, yellow sunflowers, orange butterflies, light blue sky

he didn't know why he didn't like the result

not hate it, not really dislike it either

it just felt wrong

too much red, his eyes hurt

too much yellow they stung his eyes

too much orange they looked like freckles

the light blue was okay though

he didn't like it, but dad surely would

so he showed it to him, tall figure sitting on the couch, absently changing the channels.

Upon looking at it, dad yelled,

"What do you want?

Stop bothering me!

Go away, you're a nuisance!"

and threw his drawing to the floor.

He didn't pick it up, he didn't like it anyway

he ran out to his room, closing the door behind him

nuisance, it meant something causing inconvenience or annoyance

then he was annoying?

Maybe that was true, who knew?

Maybe that was why mom left

annoying, inconvenience, a nuisance, they weren't good

that was the answer, he wasn't good enough

but maybe if he kept trying he would be

that must be it

he wouldn't draw anymore for dad if it was a nuisance

he would do something else for him

but maybe his brother would like his drawing

so he took another paper and his crayons

and drew again

green for his leaves and his brother's courtyard

white for his door and his brother's clouds

red for his tomatoes and his brother's roof.


	10. Failure

Dad had come home today, night like always

Yelled like always, looked upset like always, never smiled

Looked at him with those eyes and he stared back, forgetting to bow his head like always

Always forget

Dad yelled, "Why are you looking at me like that?

Why don't you smile?

Why can't you smile?

Why can't you be like your brother?

Why can't you smile like him?"

And it hurt,

his back hurt, his arms hurt, his sides hurt, his stomach hurt

his legs hurt, his knees hurt

he couldn't breathe, his lungs were on fire

and dad yelled and was angry

he cried and was scared

"I'm sorry,

I'm sorry,

I'm sorry,

I wouldn't do that again

So please stop,

I'm sorry"

What wouldn't he do?

He had done something wrong, he knew

But he didn't know what

He tried to smile but his face hurt

He wasn't good enough, he knew

Everyone told him that

At school, at the neighbor, at his house

But he would still try.

Dad left to his room

Today he failed to smile, and he forgot to bow his head, forgot to avoid dad's gaze (it was disrespectful)

But maybe tomorrow he would be able to

And maybe it wouldn't hurt anymore.


	11. Rosary

It was blue. It was beautiful.

It was made of crystal, looked fragile but was not.

"Just like you", Grandpa had said when he gave it to him, smiling

Helped him wear it around his neck, a birthday present

A 5th birthday present, a year before Grandpa passed away

Grandpa said there were another Father and another Mother for both of them

For everyone

Dad and mom loved them, Father and Mother love them too

Father and Mother are always there, even though they couldn't see them

The blue crystals would make him feel closer to Mother and Father

And prayer would allow him to talk to them.

He didn't understand what Grandpa said, but it was calming.

Just like today.

It was cold, he was shivering

The blanket on his bed would feel good

It was hard and solid beneath him, his limbs hurt

His soft bed would feel like heaven.

His palm around the blue crystals, they were warm

"Help me," he whispered

"Help me, Mother,

Help me, Father,

Please help me, Mother,

Please help me, Father."

Today he wasn't good enough again

And it hurt again

"Mom, where are you?" He had whispered

"Help me, mom," for night after night

She promised him and he remembered

But she never came

And he realized, she didn't love him anymore

because he wasn't good enough. She wouldn't come back for him

She had Feliciano, why would she need him?

He remembered about what Grandpa said, Mother and Father will always love him,

Always.

So he begged them, "Help me."

Mom and dad didn't love him, but Mother and Father do.

So why didn't he just go to their place?

Why did he stay at the place of mom and dad if they didn't love him? It would only be worse for both sides.

So he waited and begged everyday.

That way, maybe Mother and Father would finally come to pick him up.


	12. Problemsolving

It was green, calming green

It was a present from Grandpa on his 5th birthday, on their 5th birthday, one year before Grandpa passed away.

He remembered he was happy. Because it was their birthday. Because Grandpa was there. Because the rosary was beautiful.

Because everyone was smiling.

Grandpa told him, told _them_, about Father and Mother

and he was amazed because Father and Mother are always there

by their side even though they can't see them

and he felt safe and warm and happy too.

The rosary would help him to talk to them, Grandpa had said.

So tonight, like many nights before, he talked

to them

to Mother and Father.

He was on his bed, tucked under his blanket

warm and soft

mom had kissed him goodnight before and he felt safe.

But he was alone and he didn't like it.

The green rosary was in his small palm, slightly cold but calming.

He brought it to his eyes and traced the beads with his short fingers, slightly colorful from the crayons.

"Mother and Father, today I was happy

Today is another happy day

School was fun

And mom was smiling.

I hope you were too."

Mom had told him to stop searching

searching for _fratello_

and asking for dad.

Dad and _fratello_ wouldn't come, she said

because mom and dad had problems and had to separate.

He was sad, he didn't know about that problems

dad always said that problems should be solved together

mom always said that if they had problems they should sit and talk about it together, not fight about it

so the problems would be gone in the best way

and everyone would be happy.

But why mom and dad didn't do that?

They didn't sit and talk about it together

He didn't know about that, he guessed _fratello_ didn't either

then there was no 'together' in that

the problem wasn't solved at all.

He didn't understand why mom and dad didn't do what they taught them.

He asked mom that and mom looked like she had been slapped; he was worried.

Did he do something wrong?

Mom didn't answer, she only said that he wouldn't understand, not now.

"Mother and Father,

I'm happy with mom. I love mom.

But I miss dad, and I miss _fratello_ so much. I love both of them too.

Maybe dad is sad, and _fratello_ surely is lonely. I know he is."

A week ago, when he got home from school, mom was in the middle of a call.

She looked troubled, she looked devastated.

When he asked what was wrong, she hugged him and she _cried_

he had never seen mom cry before

her tears were warm against his hair

she said, "I'm sorry,

I'm sorry,

I'm sorry, Feliciano

I'm sorry, Romano"

He asked why she apologized. Mom hadn't done anything wrong.

"They moved away, and I don't know where to," Mom answered, choked and hoarse. "And I promised him."

He didn't understand that very well.

But he understood nonetheless.

"Mother and Father,

please let me meet _fratello_

wherever he is

please let me find him."

And he was still searching.


	13. Blue Purple Red

Blue and purple

those were two of his favorite colors

calm and cool, peaceful and serene

they were beautiful colors

but he wondered why they looked so bad on him.

So bad it was ugly.

Why did the beautiful colors look so ugly

he questioned himself as he stared on the mirror

blue covered his arms and his back

around his waist and his neck

and it wasn't calming or peaceful.

Purple on his legs and on his hips

a big spot on his knee

and it wasn't cool or serene.

He knew the answer

he was the one that made them ugly

because he wasn't good enough, hadn't been even after 5 years.

Maybe if he wore bright colors like Feliciano, he would be.

He couldn't find yellow, that was okay

because he didn't like the color that much either.

But there was red, and he liked it

it was the color of his tomatoes

and of Feliciano's roof

red was good.

So he wore red around his wrist, a wristwatch

too bad he couldn't show dad

because like him, dad liked blue and purple

but unlike him, dad hated red.

Too bad, he thought

and it was so beautiful too.


	14. Junior High

This was another new school. It was Junior High School, he learned before.

The building was big, the courtyard was even bigger. There were so many students. So many new friends.

Feliciano was excited. He stood by himself among the crowds of students, but he didn't feel anxious like the others.

Feliks stood not far from him, eyes shining and looking as excited as he was. Toris was beside him, shoulders tense and looked anxious, one hand in Feliks'. Feliciano smiled on the sight.

They hadn't changed. Feliks was still carefree and still had his cute accent. Toris was still a hardworker and often worried. And Feliciano was happy of that.

Junior High School was nice, he liked it. Some of his friends weren't here, but that was okay. They had exchanged contacts before. So they would still be friends even when they were separated. He even changed contacts with Ms. Elizaveta!

Everything around here was new to him, and he decided to take a tour himself. Feliks had already left dragging Toris behind him.

The courtyard was really nice. There were trees and grass grew so green, _green just like his courtyard and fratello's leaves_. There were benches and flower beds filled with colorful flowers. Those were nice! Red, orange, yellow, pink. _Red for his roof and fratello's tomatoes. Orange for his wall. Yellow for his sun._

Oopps, he bumped into someone. Tall and big and muscular. He lifted his head and there were blue eyes, _blue just like his sky_.

"I'm sorry, I didn't see you," the boy said. "Are you okay?" He looked like a nice person! Was he a freshman too?

"That's okay!" Feliciano was excited and happy. A new friend! "I'm Feliciano Vargas, I'm a first-year. What's your name?"

The blue eyes widened slightly, the tall boy answered after a moment, "Ludwig Beilschmidt. I'm also a first-year here."

Feliciano looked a bit above and saw blonde hair. It was such a beautiful color, and he liked it.

"That's great!" He chirped, clapped his hands, then slipped his arm on Ludwig's. His new friend stumbled and turned a light pink. So funny! "Let's take a tour around together, Ludwig!"

Ludwig stuttered and tried to pull away, but Feliciano's grip was tight, _fratello_ always told him that.

He was happy that he found a new friend.

He was happy that his new school was really nice.

He was happy that mom looked happy when she took him here.

But when the opening ceremony for new first-years had ended and sky turned orange, _orange just like his wall_, he felt anxious.

It was weird, he didn't before.

Everything was okay, he shouldn't be anxious.

But that was why he should be, his mind told him.

He didn't get the answer even when he got home.

He didn't get the answer until days had passed,

until he sat on his seat, finding Ludwig next to him

until he participated in class representatives election

until he introduced himself and got many new friends

until he laughed and had chat with them and smiled to them

until he spent his lessons making notes, listening to the teacher, or chatting secretly with his friends

until he found the art room, learned art, and felt belong.

He got the answer after that.

He should be anxious.

Because _fratello_ wasn't here

and he was okay.


	15. Violet

He was anxious.

There were too many people. It was too crowded.

It was too noisy.

His new uniform was a white shirt with collar

and dark pants.

He wore his hoodie over it

dark blue, he liked it

and long sleeved.

It would hide him, it would made him blend in

it would hide the ugly blue and purple that he wore

the dark blue hoodie was nice

it was perfect

and he liked it.

Opening ceremony for new first-years ended, and sky turned golden orange, then purple

it was beautiful

energetic but heart-wrenching

and something tugged on his mind, but he ignored it.

He walked home, watching as the sky turned dark

beautifully dark, like Prussian blue mixed with gray.

And it was perfect.

Smooth, cloudless, dotting with stars

twinkling stars, and he respected them

because they were small, but they did their best

decorating the smooth sky

and he envied them

because they were never alone, they always had each other

never alone

and he was sorry for them

because even though they did their best up there

they looked just like dots, nothing more

dots that stained the beautiful night sky.

Then first day came.

It wasn't as bad, he didn't care anyway.

He got a seat, that was what matter.

Fuck with the class representatives election.

His sketch was all that mattered

they told him he wasn't good enough

but the sketchbook was his, so it was none of their business what he would do with it

and he liked his sketch, so what?

The boy sat next to him was quiet, too quiet

they couldn't hear his voice, they didn't pay too much attention when he introduced himself

he didn't either

but when he lifted his head and turned,

the boy was watching him

blonde wavy hair, framed his face and fell down smoothly

behind a pair of glasses, violet eyes, it was such a beautiful color

calm and serene and peaceful,

so different from the purple he wore.

The boy gaped when their eyes met, averting his gaze,

stuttering apologies

and he only snickered.

The violet color was so beautiful,

softly glimmering and was calm and serene

and he envied the quiet boy

because the color looked really nice on him.

"It's really good," soft, almost inaudible, but he heard it.

And it was sincere.

He didn't lift his head, the quiet boy didn't either.

Then the first day ended.

Second day came, and along with it, days.

The quiet boy was still quiet, was still unnoticed, was still shy

still talked to him.

He was still grumpy, still shot everyone glares and not smile, still didn't try to make friends

still talked back to the boy next to him.

The quiet boy still saw.

He still heard.

The quiet boy still smiled to him

and was no longer afraid of him.

He still envied the violet

but had come to admire it.


	16. Art Room part 1

Second door to the left at the southern wing hallway

that was the art room, Matthew told him

and he was reminded of paper, crayons, and coloring pencils

and pictures and drawings and colors

and _green for his courtyard, white for his clouds, red for his roof_

he didn't realize as his lips formed a light smile

and Matthew realized and smiled too;

but then he was reminded of his father

_blue and purple and red_

_why can't you be like your brother_

_why can't you smile like him_

and his smile ceased

Matthew noticed and frowned lightly, worried.

He asked what was wrong, but he only shook his head.

The Canadian didn't press further, he knew his limit.

Violet eyes were gentle, and he asked if he would like to come in.

He shook his head again,

the memory of his father had splattered dark paint all over

blue and purple and red

_why are you looking at me like that_

_why don't you smile_

and the bell rang, the break time was over

he turned on his heel and left first, his friend's softer footsteps followed behind.

_Why can't you smile?_

It was already afternoon when school ended.

Matthew offered to walk home together, but he refused. His blue-eyed twin brother from the next class, American, had come to pick him up.

Cheerful and noisy and bright.

Reminded him of someone,

sky blue that looked vaguely similar to golden

and he averted his eyes away.

The school was quiet, but he liked it.

His steps were light, and he walked to the second door to the left at the southern wing hallway.

The door wasn't locked, and his fingers itched.

Anxiety, it was after school, but it wasn't illegal, right?

Longing, the texture of the crayons, innocence of the paper, the edge of the coloring pencils.

Familiarity, _green for his leaves, white for his door, red for his tomatoes, blue and purple that looked ugly on him, violet that looked beautiful on Matthew, golden that reminded him too much of home._

And he pushed the only barrier that separated him from all those feelings, and the door was open, he stepped inside.


	17. Art Room part 2

It was the first room on the second floor of the northern wing.

Feliciano found it when he was taking a tour around with Ludwig on the first day.

"Art room", the sign above the door read.

He wanted to enter, but Ludwig stopped him, saying that maybe it wasn't accepted to enter when there was no lesson.

Feliciano pouted, but obeyed. 'Ludwig is too tense', he thought.

He couldn't wait for the art lesson to come, but it would start next week. He couldn't wait until next week!

And during the class, the math class, as the teacher explained to them about trigonometry, Feliciano sketched on his notebook

small sketches along the empty spaces

and he hummed slowly, undetectable to anyone but himself

_green for my courtyard, green for fratello's leaves_

_white for my clouds, white for fratello's door_

_red for my roof, red for fratello's tomatoes_

and he was content just like that, smiling lightly to himself

a little world that existed just for a moment, but it was fine

a little world that he held to as his fingers missed another set of fingers

a little world that he smiled to as his eyes missed another pair of eyes

a little world that he sung to as his memory of certain someone became but a blur

a little world that he clung to as fear etched in his heart, fear that he was fine when he wasn't supposed to be.

Small sketches along the empty spaces,

he wasn't empty, but he missed someone

someone that should be by his side

and drew sketches with him, rough and gentle, dark and light, strong and delicate, all at the same time.

The next morning, he came much earlier, one and a half hour before the school started.

Steps were light against the floor, first room on the second floor of the northern wing.

His fingers were on the handle, the door wasn't locked.

Anxiety, he might had disobeyed a school rule, but he might not. Might just be Ludwig that was too worried.

Longing, bright colors of the crayons, the smooth white paper, more varying colors of the coloring pencils.

Familiarity, _green for his courtyard, white for his clouds, red for his roof, brown for his soil, yellow for his sun, blue that was the color of Ludwig's eyes, and golden that reminded him too much of home._

And he pushed the door open, stepping inside

* * *

><p><strong> See the direction of the art room in this chapter and the previous :)))<strong>


	18. Canvas White

Warm and heart-wrenching.

The room was painted in orange, yellow, red, and slight golden,

it was colored with the sunset

and it was so breathtaking he was silent for a moment, wanting to engrave the exact scene to his mind.

The smell that was new but strangely familiar entered his senses, and he was snapped back to reality.

Poster color, the smell tickled his nose, but lingered there pleasantly after a while

oil paint, the smell of oil was strong but rather nice, and he found himself linger to it longer

acrylic and watercolor, he looked at both and smiled at both.

Then he looked around, and there were white.

Canvases.

Smooth and empty and pure and waiting,

he ran his fingers along one

long, slightly calloused, rough and delicate

the canvas reminded him of someone, as pure, as innocent, and might be waiting,

or might not

and he treated it carefully, delicately, like it was made of glass

fragile and he was afraid to break it

because it was too dear.

The texture was smooth below his fingertips

colorless and faceless

and he yearned for it.

Blue and purple and red would look beautiful on it, he swore

violet would be in harmony with sky blue, but it wouldn't stand out, sadly

golden would be breathtaking

green, white, and red, and it would be complete.

White canvas, just like someone

someone that might be no longer waiting

but if he could let himself be selfish for only a moment

moments that he would spend inside of this room

warm and heart-wrenching and breathtaking

he prayed that he would be allowed to yearn, as imaginary as it was.

Poster color, oil paint, acrylic and watercolor

crayons and coloring pencils

he prayed that his fingers, his hands, would be allowed to hold them

and as if answering, the sunset fell upon him,

upon his figure (small but straight, looked fragile but was not, blue and purple looked ugly on it), upon his hair (darker and not reddish), upon his eyes (golden but didn't glimmer),

upon his hands, painted them beautifully with colors.

And he smiled, soft and serene and thankful.

-o-

Beautiful and bright,

the room was anything but those two words, Feliciano thought.

Blue sky outside the windows and golden morning sunlight painted the room in soft and endearing colors.

Pure and wide and full of possibility, full of ideas, full of hope.

He walked to the racks, and he bounced excitedly on the smells.

Poster color, the smell was sharp at first, but grew familiar within seconds.

Oil paint, he loved the smell of the oil and my, weren't the colors beautiful. He loved them.

Acrylic and watercolor, he patted them like they were his friends.

He turned around and saw white dots, canvases. White canvases.

Feliciano smiled to them, bouncing to one, running his fingers on its surface

long, smooth, and trained, delicate and gentle.

The canvas stood straight and modest on strong feet, its texture lingered on his fingertips, not wanting to let go, waiting

not rough and not smooth

was cold at first but was warm on the next second

and he was reminded of someone, as strong and as modest,

seemed rough but not, was soft inside but was not at the same time

regarded as cold but was warm inside

and might still be waiting, still lingered

Feliciano treated it dearly, warmly, almost patting it with his fingers.

Plain, but it would no longer be

he yearned to fill it with colors

brown and yellow would be a matching pair, they would bring each other out

blue would be calming and admired, spreading comfort

golden would look beautiful

green, white, and red, and it would be complete.

Canvas that held much more beneath the texture

just like someone

someone that might still be waiting

someone that he would certainly find one day.

And he wanted to keep believing

Feliciano wanted to paint his faith, his hope, his wish, his life

in the moments he would spend inside this room

bright and beautiful

he would ask the world, if they had seen someone

with each stroke of his brush and each color that he would choose

someone that was strong and modest, soft and rough, cold but warm,

someone that might still be waiting

he would ask them if they had seen his brother.


	19. Trails

Shards.

There were shards on the floor, glimmering slightly under the lamp.

Rather a scene there was.

Seldom, but not unusual

unusual, but not rare.

There were trails of shards, glass shards

leading to the kitchen

he followed though reluctantly, ended up in the kitchen

the lamp's white light was too bright, but he didn't flinch

the slumped figure on the table was familiar, he no longer stared

had long stopped staring.

The figure moved, crumpled and in a mess

but still recognizable

reddish hair, dark eyes, almost hollow expression, _used to be intimidating, used to wrinkle in anger, used to be etched with disappointment_

and his father lifted his head and looked at him

dark hair, golden eyes, blank expression

but still, it angered him, it always did

"You shouldn't drink so much," the younger in the room said

voice stable and tone emotionless, _had mastered it_

and his father stood up, groggily and unstable, took few shaky steps to him

and shoved him hard on the chest, _just like back then_

watching as his son lost his balance and landed on top of the shards,

watching as each of them tore his skin and carve red

watching as the dark blue hoodie fell over slightly,

watching as thin arms revealed, covered in blue and purple

_so ugly_

and he threw up then and there

when he looked up, there was still his son, he hated to admit it

dark hair like his, golden eyes like his mother, like his _brother_

face and eyes and expression that he couldn't read, that he couldn't bother read

_no longer tear-brimmed and filled with fear, no longer widened_

"Get out!

What are you looking at?

You have no right to judge me!

Get out!"

A pair of legs stood, _no longer shaky_

the figure (_looked too much like him_) walked out,

and returned with a broom, started to sweep the glass shards into the duster (_no longer clumsy_)

dripped red while doing so, leaving a new trail behind

_so ugly_

and he yelled, "Get out I said!"

this time, he obeyed, leaving

a trail of red followed closely behind him.

-o-

Sounds.

There was a trail of sounds.

A trail of sounds from the kitchen, the sounds of kitchen utensils, the sounds of dishes.

And then there was a smell, a nice one

he followed it and it led him to the kitchen

small back, dark hair, trained hands

a familiar smell.

His son turned around and saw him

"Dinner's ready," he set down one more dish onto the table.

His father was silent, but at least he was sober

dark hair, dark eyes, sullen expression, _used to be gentle, used to smile_

his father sat down on one of the chair

and he sat down on the other across it.

The menu was simple, for a simple reason

_he had tried to cook pasta once, from the recipe book_

his father stared at them for a moment, eyes and expression he couldn't read, he could no longer bother to read

_and father had yelled, and it was hurt all over, and his cheeks were wet_

before he stood up, mumbled that he didn't need dinner

_because it reminded him too much of mom_

he couldn't care less, so he started to eat

it was so quiet, but peaceful in the kitchen

he could eat in peace, the food were nice enough, the dishes were still intact

yet it was so hollow

_so he never tried again_


	20. Geranium

Small.

Green leaves.

Flowers that stood out shyly, modestly among them.

Blue, such a beautiful blue,

and he was captivated by it.

Long, calloused fingers stretched out

touched the petals, blue, so beautiful blue

delicate and soft below his fingertips,

welcoming him, didn't look away

blue that was so different from his, and he admired it

admired that it was so beautiful, yet so modest

felt so delicate, yet it stood strong

looked cold, but it was familiar and soft on his fingers, on his palm

bandaged and bruised and decorated with cuts

calloused and rough

ugly

but the flower allowed him to be close, didn't melt on his touch.

"Geranium," the shop owner said, smiling

"Beautiful plant. You don't need to water it too much either."

He wanted to say he didn't mind to do, but he kept silent

because the flowers knew, and it understood.

"You like it?" Soft voice from beside him, and he didn't look up.

Matthew didn't need to ask twice, one look and he understood

smile was gentle, and it was almost a mirror of the expression his friend was wearing

gentle

and the façade was allowed to fall.

He played with the leaves, twirling them slightly

and they played along, almost seemed like laughing

sliding between his fingers smoothly

didn't stop even when they had seen

bruised,

calloused, rough,

decorated with cuts,

and small scar on his wrist, hidden by the long sleeve

they didn't judge him.

Matthew returned a while later, taking the small plant in his hands,

gently, and smiling.

He put it in his arms, smiling up to him,

"For you," he said. "I'm sorry it was so late."

He looked at him silly, slight frown, confused eyes,

and the violet ones glimmered softly.

"Happy birthday."

He could only blink, and his mind was blank

the plant was warm and pulsing with life and _familiar_ on his arms

and he felt he was home

truly at home.

When they left, he was silent along the way

he always was, but today was different

his hand ran along the soil, dark brown and slightly wet

and almost seemed like it smiled to him, wise like an elder

the leaves rustled lightly on the wind, they sounded like they were humming

and the flowers, so beautiful, so grand, yet still so modest

were silent but understanding.

He looked at his quiet friend beside him,

and violet eyes looked back.

"Thank you."

* * *

><p><strong>Happy earth day everyone :)<strong>


	21. Cousin

This weekend, his auntie came to visit with his son. Marcello, he introduced himself, smiling.

Feliciano liked him upon first sight, his cousin.

Light brown hair, bangs fell to one side, a strand of hair curling angularly so similar to his _to fratello's_, bright green eyes, and a friendly smile on his face. Feliciano smiled back to him, wide and beaming.

Mom was chatting with auntie on the living room, so Feliciano led Marcello to his room.

Marcello was a fun person. He liked to talk, he had a light and cheerful voice, not as high as Feliciano's nor as deep as _fratello's (might be)_. He smiled a lot, and he listened when people talked.

"You have a twin?" He asked, the old photo in his hand. _It was taken when they were five, messy hair from playing tag, he was on dad's back and mom had her arms wrapped around fratello. Smiling, all of them._

He nodded, smiled a bit _because the photograph made him, but it was painful inside_.

"Where is he now?"

"I don't know."

Marcello eyed him for a moment, eyes still bright and friendly, held a twinkle of curiosity. He sat down beside him on the bed, _small bed that only fit for one person when it should be two._

"Mind to tell me?" He still held the photo, framed in simple frame, the glass was smooth and it caught light, _blurring the figures inside_.

And Feliciano told him. About how mom and dad couldn't be together anymore, about how they got divorced, and how the law forcefully separated them _because they said mom wouldn't be able to afford both of them, they said the younger should go with her, they said the older would be finer with dad, they said everything would be alright that way_.

They were twins. _Twins_.

Feliciano told him about how mom left with him _only with him_, about how not long after that dad moved away somewhere else they didn't know _taking fratello with him_, about how mom had been and was still saving to hire a private detective and maybe to pay a lawyer _so they could find fratello, so they could be together again, so law would never tear them apart again_.

Mom was still saving.

And unknown to her, Feliciano was too.

Several days a month he wouldn't have lunch.

He bought the cheapest clothes, the cheapest but still good paint, being efficient.

That was a small prize to pay,

because loneliness was far greater

he was lonely, mom was here

he was lonely, he had Ludwig and Feliks and Toris

he was lonely, he had art, oil paint, poster color, acrylic and watercolor

he was lonely, the wide art room and the waiting canvases

because even when they were all here for him they still weren't the same.

He was sure _fratello_ was lonely too

as lonely as he was, maybe even greater

who knew if dad could get as much time as he could with him?

Dad most likely was really busy, because mom was too.

But something else was greater than the loneliness itself,

and it was content,

the feeling that he felt when he shouldn't be

because _fratello _wasn't here, but he was content.

Marcello listened, truly listened he could tell, because his face was serious and his eyes were calm.

"Are you still searching?" He asked.

Feliciano nodded.

"What can I do to help?"

He blinked, face slowly curved into a smile. "You will?"

Marcello smiled back, eyes were bright again. "Of course. I want to meet your _fratello _too."

"There's nothing much we can do," Feliciano admitted, "But I ask people that go outside of town. If they had seen my brother, that is."

"It's like a detective," Marcello laughed, light and friendly, no mockery inside. "Sounds fine. I'll do it too. I have friends from Austria, Sealand, even from somewhere near Australia."

"The range is so wide," Feliciano laughed, "Ve." Marcello laughed with him.

"What's your brother like?" He set the photograph back on the desk. "What's his name?"

"His name's Romano, I'm not sure what he looks like now," _They are twins_. "But I think he'll look like me…" _Darker hair, golden eyes, scowl and frown that he was so accustomed to wear _"Oh, and his curl's dangling in front of him, not left like me."

"Like us," Marcello added, twirling his own curl playfully. "What is he like? His attitude, what he likes, what he doesn't,"

"He's often harsh, but he never really means that." _Often yelled at him_ "He often frowned or scowled or pouted, but that doesn't always mean that he's angry" _Often smacked him lightly on his head _"He's much more sensitive and a soft person inside." _Protected him from mom and dad's yelling sessions._ "He likes drawing, he loves art."

"The three of us would make the greatest trio," Marcello grinned, so wide, so bright, and _so convincing_.

And Feliciano believed him, smiling back to him.

* * *

><p><strong>No, the curl doesn't act as an erogenous zone in here. It's just normal curl.<strong>


	22. Obligation

He brought home with him brochures

brochures of several senior high schools around

and he put them on the kitchen table

didn't really pay attention to them.

The next morning they were still there

silent and unmoving

untouched under the beam of the morning sunlight

he passed them by as he left for school.

They stayed there for days

for weeks

until the final exam ended

until the long holiday came

silent,

were stained here and there by food and drink,

untouched.

Then the long holiday passed,

and the new semester began.

His new uniform was simple

green blazer over white collared-shirt

dark pants

new shoes, sneakers

he didn't wear his hoodie today, he wasn't allowed to

father sat on the driver's side

his hands were on the wheel.

He entered and sat on the passenger's side

and the engine was started

dark backpack on his lap, old but strong

had carried his belongings for three years

and he didn't see any reason to replace it.

The high school, his new school

was crowded

and he didn't feel so good

but the pressure in his stomach loosened as he saw familiar face

familiar eyes.

Matthew approached him, smiling

his mother behind him,

beautiful, same violet eyes

same gentleness, similar smiles

same soft tone

and the same smell of mother.

She and his father introduced themselves,

shook hands, smiled to each other

exchanging polite words

and they left to auditorium for parents briefing.

Matthew said his father looked so much like him

dark hair, straight back, all but the golden eyes

and he shook his head no

face that used to smile

_why don't you smile why can't you smile_

used to be gentle

_why can't you smile like your brother why can't you be like him_

blue purple and red

_so ugly _

not orange not yellow not light blue

_why am I stuck with you_

not cheerful, not shining, only quiet, only deep

_stop bothering me_

not Feliciano

_go away you're a nuisance_

The first day ended, they went home

father was on the driver's side, hands on the wheel

he sat on the passenger's seat, backpack on his lap.

* * *

><p><strong>To answer Lovi's Tomato Lover's question about whether or not Romano hates his father.<br>**


	23. Distance

Tiny little box that laid in another bigger box,

it was a cellphone, Feliciano had seen some of his new classmates using them.

He raised a questioning eyebrow at mom, pure curiosity,

and mom smiled and said, "It's for you. To celebrate you entering high school." She hugged him and laughed into his hair. "My boy has become a young man now."

Feliciano was excited, but there was something else, nagging at the back of his mind.

He didn't really need a cellphone, the money used to buy it would be better if used for…

but he didn't say it out loud,

he smiled and hugged mom back and thanked her.

In one day he had had his friends' numbers,

almost everyone.

Feliks, Toris, Ludwig, Ms. Elizabeta, Kiku

they said the cellphone would make it faster,

easier,

to communicate with each other when there was distance between them.

Distance.

But when night came and he laid alone on his bed,

dark room,

only moonlight from the window,

his cellphone in hand and he thought about it

distance.

There was a flaw in the perfection of the tiny gadget, perfection that everyone using it claimed.

If you didn't know the number

of the person you wanted to call

or to send message to

how would the tiny, little machine connect you?

The cellphone wasn't a perfection

it wasn't a solution to distance either

to Feliciano it made his heart ache more.

It made him smile and excited in the day

and lonely and aching in the night.

Now with his finger laid on the buttons,

lost,

and his eyes were wet with tears

and his heart ached, it hurt so much

as he stared to the dull screen,

flashing in the dark with the colorful wallpaper,

tiny little machine that would take him nowhere

like a placebo, it made him relieved or happy or all those positive feelings at the start of the day

and when the effect wore off he would be left aching and yearning when the light of the day faded.

-o-

Tiny little thing, square in shape

now laid on his desk, silent

dull,

watching.

A mockery to him,

new,

smooth surface

flashing cheerful screen

Matthew's number already in the contacts,

hiding the devious things so well,

devious things such as

the radiation, high pitched and hidden so well inside

the allure that trick people to fall,

become dependable to it

couldn't escape

inescapable.

It felt like a mockery to him,

from someone

deep

grey in his eyes instead of multi colors

yearning for perfection

blue and purple

and red.

Like a mockery to him,

because the perfection was given

to the imperfect one.

But how wrong that someone was

since the perfection wasn't perfect

it couldn't solve anything

there was still distance

between two people

one couldn't

one could no longer.

There was still distance

between two people

one who might not be waiting anymore

one that had stopped waiting.

There was still distance

one that couldn't be closed

even when you screamed

into the tiny little thing

or when you kept silent

and counted the fading footsteps.

There was still distance.

* * *

><p><strong>Grey for obligation. Multi colors for love.<strong>


	24. Senior

Antonio liked the first day of new semester.

It wasn't only because he could be back to the familiar and cheerful crowds of the school again, but also because he would see new faces, his new juniors. He had always liked it since he was in Junior High School, and now he still did, in his second year in High School.

It wasn't a new scene for him either to see one of his best friends Francis was talking (read : flirting) to a new face.

(Gilbert was nowhere to find near there so he suspected he had gone to pester another freshmen about their new 'awesome senior').

"Hola Francis! Won't you introduce me to your new friend?" A friendly clap on the back.

"Antonio!" Smirked and returned his clap with one on his butt, a friendly gesture he had claimed. "Friends, actually. This is Matthew Williams and Romano Vargas. Both are juniors."

Well, if Francis didn't say it, Antonio wouldn't notice another boy standing behind the first one. "Matthew, this is Antonio, one of my best friends."

The one with the wavy blonde hair and glasses smiled and introduced himself politely. "Hello, I'm Matthew." He shifted a bit, bringing his friend into a better view. "This is my friend, Romano."

The one in the back had dark brown hair and hazel eyes. Was scowling and refused to meet their eyes, looking away. Looked like a grumpy person.

Antonio tried to smile to him,

but the junior only glanced at him for a moment before stuffing his hands into his pockets

and looking away again.

Antonio backed away a little, but Matthew smiled apologetically and said, "It's nice to meet you."

Antonio smiled back at him.

His new junior looked really nice!

But his friend really looked like someone he would avoid.

Antonio liked making friends and he was always friendly,

but for some reason he didn't want to disturb his Italian junior.

Romano was quiet the whole time, but Antonio could imagine him yelling

and he certainly didn't want to be the target of it.

"I've just asked Matthew and his friend if they would like to be shown around school," Francis said, one arm around Antonio's oblivious waist.

"So what do you say if we start now, _non_?"

"That's great!"

A tour around the school would be awesome

he would get the chance to know his juniors better

"Is it okay for both of you?"

Matthew looked back at his friend

and after a slight nod from him, he replied, "It's okay."

It was a great day indeed

it was the start of the new semester,

and he had already made friends

with juniors,

maybe just a junior.

* * *

><p><strong>Really really sorry for the weird and really weird (yes, I said it twice) part. I have to be accustomed to Antonio's POV because putting him in the same format as Romano and Feliciano would be kind of out. Antonio's part format might change in the future.<strong>


	25. Inside

He didn't understand why people said High School was different from Junior High

for him it was the same

three years

the same classroom

same crowds

same cafeteria

same lessons

same isolation.

He once thought, at least he wasn't truly alone

Matthew was just like him

not recognized

unnoticed

often forgotten

his opinions didn't matter much

they were similar.

And he felt terrible

he was a horrible friend

cruel

egoist

filled with envy

disgusting.

If he was a good friend,

he would wish the best for Matthew

would wish his voice to be heard

would wish him to be noticed

would wish him to be happy.

Instead, he wished him not to change

to stay quiet

to stay unnoticed

to stay with him

two people, two similar people.

And now, there they were,

a French senior talking to them

no, not to them

to Matthew

and he felt out of place

resentment

jealousy

cruel, he was cruel

someone finally talked to Matthew, finally recognized him,

finally remembered his name

finally listened to him

finally smiled to him

and he should be happy for his friend

a part of him forced himself to feel so

a part of him was not.

Why did someone talk to Matthew, and not to him also?

There were two of them,

so why only one of them?

Isolation

loneliness

it was the best choice

it was painful, it made him ache

but it was safe

he wouldn't get hurt

he wouldn't think of bad (_cruel, evil_) things

and even if he did, no one was with him,

so no one would be unlucky to have such a

cruel

disgusting

evil

friend

acquaintance.

He deserved no one.

.

.

.

Inside his head he chanted

_I'm happy (I'm not, I'm angry)_

_I'm happy someone finally truly talk to Matthew (Why only him?)_

_But he doesn't look like a nice person (Stay away from us)_

_But Matthew looks like he's having fun, real fun (Leave the two of us alone!)_

_It's okay, Matthew's happy (why aren't I?)_

_I'm grateful he finally have a friend (please don't forget about me_

_don't leave me alone_

_why am I the only one left out?)_

And when he looked up, there were colors

beautiful green, no, not green

emerald, _green just like Feliciano's courtyard_

friendly, _just like his brother_

smiling. _Why can't you smile why don't you smile why can't you be like your brother_

And then the emerald shifted

_green for his brother's courtyard green for his leaves_

smiled to Matthew

_violet that looked so beautiful, blue and purple that looked ugly on him._

.

.

.

Tour around the school, the two seniors said

Matthew looked back at him

violet eyes warm, asking for his opinion

_please don't forget about me_

_please don't change_

_please don't leave me_

and he nodded lightly

_evil disgusting cruel filled with nothing no one would want him he deserved no one_.


	26. Art

_Trash_

He bit his lip at the word

strange, since he himself was the one who said it

_trash_.

Golden eyes ran across the piece,

studying it

every inches

and only felt disappointed.

How many years had it been?

But still, the same mistakes

the same lack of skill

still stayed

ruined something that should be his pride

or maybe he wasn't allowed to have one to begin with.

He ran fingers on it,

feeling the rough texture

too less water

tracing the wet spots

too much water

golden eyes stayed on the colors

they didn't blend like he hoped them to be.

Trash,

it was trash

and he was reminded of last afternoon

at the art class

standing at the exact same spot

doing the same that he did right now

noticing the same mistakes

much worse, because it had been an assignment

he had tried

every single fiber in himself was working

thinking

how to fix that up

assignment, that was an assignment

in his head, it should be something that would look good

he had liked the piece inside his head

but when his hand worked, they betrayed him

his friend and his enemy, at the same time

his hands.

It wasn't their fault, he reminded himself

if something,

someone,

should be blamed,

it was him.

Maybe he didn't practice enough

didn't learn enough.

An ordinary boy, very ordinary

didn't have anything good in him

average face

harsh attitude

average brain

no talents

only love in art

something that made him feel belong

art.

So no way he was gonna give up on it

the only place in this world where he belong

truly belong

was there

nowhere else.


	27. Encounter

The school was almost empty when he finished. Antonio sighed.

If there was something to blame for him coming home late, it would be his detention.

Cleaning his classroom.

And who knew that his classroom was as messy and dirty as a junkyard?

Swinging his backpack onto his shoulders, Antonio walked out of the classroom and through the hallway, heading for the emergency stairs.

It wasn't there was any case of emergency. But some people knew that emergency stairs was a shortcut. Just like its function.

But even though those certain people knew, it was still rare for the emergency stairs to be used. There was nothing to be rushed of, they claimed.

And Antonio agreed, except in days when he was late to school.

Today even though he wasn't anywhere near in a rush, he made his way there, whistling softly along the way.

The school was nearly empty, save for the cleaning service guys. It was Friday anyway. Ah, yes, Friday. He was reminded of his promise to go to Gilbert's apartment today with Francis to watch some movies. And maybe do some crazy things like drinking. Antonio grinned at the thought. They weren't called Bad Friends Trio for no reason. But hey, they weren't the same as some really _bad_ guys who used or sold drugs or something like that. Maybe they were a little… out of the ordinary (they weren't crazy!), but they were normal teenagers!

The door to the emergency stairs was slightly open, like usual. But Antonio stopped midway, hand on the handle.

He heard something.

Very soft sounds.

Very soft rustling of paper,

scratching sound (was it the sound of a pencil?).

Was someone there?

And then there was another very soft sound,

humming,

low, afraid to be detected

but still, it was a peaceful song

a bit of sad, but it was good

and Antonio pushed the door open.

Sitting there, on the floor, his back against the wall

was the junior he and Francis met few days ago

the friend of Matthew.

The boy stopped, both the humming and the sketching

and lifted his head

his golden eyes met with Antonio's green ones

and they stared at each other for several numb seconds.

The boy stared at him slightly wide-eyed, but didn't move.

Antonio was the first to regain his sense. Why not be friendly? "Hi! Romano, right? It's been a while!" He smiled to him, not that he expected the junior to smile back. "What are you doing here?"

Slowly, the golden eyes reverted back to the sketch book laid on his knees. "Sketching. Can't you see?"

He replied! He talked! Antonio prevented himself from saying the thought out loud. That boy wouldn't like it. "Aren't you going home?" It was five in the afternoon, and it was Friday! Didn't this boy have any plan for weekend?

"No," Romano seemed like he almost regretted his reply. "I mean, later."

"Oh, okay." And he was pushed outside the line again. But he was quite surprised. His junior didn't seem as… bad as he had thought. Maybe he was a little grumpy (by the scowl on his face every time he talked), but now that Antonio paid him a little more attention, he could see the neutral, and almost soft expression on that face. And his hand was very skilled too, dancing on the sketchbook paper, drawing lines, and later would be a picture.

"What are you looking at?" Now there was that scowl again.

Antonio raised his hands in defense. Smiling sheepishly, he said, "Sorry, my bad."

Scowling at him for another several seconds, the boy turned back to his sketch.

Skipping past him, Antonio paid him one final glance. The golden eyes that reflected the afternoon sunlight, fingers that had paint streaks on the nails. And maybe he was mistaken, but there was a flash of another expression on his junior's face.

Antonio steps down the stairs and thought that he might talk to Romano again in Monday. Thinking of it as his apologies that he had somehow ignored the boy while they, Matthew, and Francis spent time together.


	28. Emergency Stairs

The emergency stairs was a perfect spot

not often used, almost forgotten

had glass windows that allowed sunlight to enter

quiet and peaceful

untouched.

It was a perfect spot for him

when he needed to re-arrange his thoughts

or needed inspiration

or just needed a moment to be alone

to be quiet and safe.

So he went there again today

father would be home early today, as he always did every Friday

so why did he have to go home?

He had to

but not now.

His sketchbook was there

his music player with its headset plugged in was there

all that he needed were there

there was no reason to go home

not now anyway.

The emergency stairs was warm,

bathed in the orange-golden afternoon sunlight

quiet

it calmed him.

Sketchbook on his knees,

pencil on his hand

music in his ears

and he began.

Scenery and faces

rough lines and soft lines

tears and smiles

loneliness and tranquility

fear and anger

brothers and sisters

home.

Black and white, no colors

but it made him feel fulfilled

at least at this moment.

Then he looked up and saw

emerald

_green like his leaves, green like Feliciano's courtyard_

no, not green

emerald was different

beautiful in its own way

it was the senior from the other day

what was his name again,

Antonio.

The one with that perverted French

the perverted frog that his friend had come to like

that seemed to had come to like his friend

and flooded him with all those ugly feelings again.

Did the senior just talked to him? Or was it a distortion his headset created?

"Romano, right? It's been a while!"

And he was struck

painful and hopeful at the same time

_he remembered my name_

_he remembered me_

and his chest swelled with emotions

but then came the realization

_don't hope_

_don't you ever dare to hope_

Maybe he remembered him today

emerald, friendly and glinting

full of life and cheerful

_blue and purple and red_

but he might not tomorrow.

_Don't hope,_

_don't you ever dare to hope_.

And he was glad when he was finally left alone again

peaceful,

quiet,

painful.

Realization was painful.

Hope was even more.

_Don't hope,_

_don't you ever dare to hope_

_because you have no right for it._

* * *

><p><strong>The emergency stairs is fully based on the one that my college has. I spent my time once there, and even though inspiration didn't really come, but I really like the atmosphere there (and I did it on 5 in the afternoon, so the sunlight was indeed golden-orange).<br>**


	29. Contradiction

It was Monday

and he was in a really bad mood

and sore all over.

Saturday night, father had come home angry

some trouble with his friends

and he thanked God that he had his hoodie

if not

he was too lazy to think of something

for the blue on the upper arm

big spot.

Sunday morning, it had been fine

had been fine until evening

when father had come home drunk

and had found his mistakes

like always

the bluish purple spots on his knees

and on his sides

and maybe on his back

and new cuts on his left palm

ugly

he used to feel sick whenever he looked

but now he was not

had gotten used to.

Matthew could read his face

could read his short lazy replies

and didn't press

never being the one to

and he was grateful

even though sometimes he wished

that he would be asked

_it hurts / I'm fine._

_it hurts all over, everywhere / I can manage, I can bear it_

_please say that / Don't_

"_Are you okay?" / Don't ask_

"_What happened?" / Please_

"_Who did this to you?" / Please don't ask_

_I won't lie / I wouldn't want to lie, but I have to_

_help me / I'm fine, really._

"Are you okay?"

And he looked up

his heart sank / _leaped_

scowling

"Of course I am

Why wouldn't I?"

_I'm not, it hurts it still hurts it always hurts_

Matthew smiled nervously in return.

"Sorry. You're right.

Wanna go have lunch?"

_Please please please_

He shrugged and rose from his seat

hands inside his pockets

following his friend to the cafeteria

_Make a crack_

_a crack so you can see inside me_

_so you can help me_

_please please please_

Matthew was silent

he knew how to act around the grumpy him

_crack me, crack inside of me, see me_

_truly see me_

don't ask too much

don't talk too much

he was perfectly capable of that

_no, don't. Don't don't_

_stop it stop stop stop_

_don't look don't see_

_leave me like this_

_I'm fine, I'll be fine_

Matthew was such a good friend, he was grateful to have him

grateful

_please don't stop_

_don't stop_


	30. Emotions

It was the same Monday

in the cafeteria

and the previous seniors came to them

the pervert, the thick-headed albino,

and the emergency stairs one.

The pervert winked to Matthew

the albino was loud

the emergency stairs was smiling

like always.

The pervert took a seat next to Matthew

and slung his arm over his shoulders

ignoring the burning glare he leveled him.

The albino was still loud

talking about unimportant things

he didn't like him

but he had to admit

his crimson eyes were a new

crimson, redder than red

_red like Feliciano's roof, red like his tomatoes_

in contrast with the white _silver_ hair

_silver like imaginary lining in the clouds, maybe in Feliciano's clouds_

_silver like the gleaming of the razor back then_

but he didn't want to stare too long

he didn't want the bastard to have a wrong impression.

The emergency stairs was still smiling,

laughing

not only with his mouth

but also with his eyes

emerald _green like Feliciano's courtyard_

warm

cheerful

full of life

"_Italy is pasta~ me and fratello are Italians~ we are pasta~"_

and he almost smiled

so silly, his brother was

so innocent

so pure.

The emergency stairs turned to him

and smiled

and said, "Hola, Romano!"

and he was awestruck

_he called me what?_

_he called me my name_

_he remembered my name_

_he remembered me_

the emergency stairs senior _Antonio_

sat in front of him

that same smile was still on his face

never faltered

had never faltered

"How was your weekend?

Did your sketching go well?"

And he no longer realized that the pervert and the loud one were still there

still flirting with Matthew _he didn't know red could match so well with violet_

still talking about wurst and beer and his bird and the little brother who-was-away-but-still-hadn't-changed-still-as-stiff-as-ever

because Antonio was talking

to him

and none of those ugly feelings came

he waited

he waited with dread

but none of them came

and Antonio was still smiling

even though he didn't smile back

even though he was scowling.

Antonio was still asking him

eyes twinkled

face bright

even though he was still silent

even though he muttered curses under his breath

even though Antonio heard that

but Antonio was laughing

didn't frown even once.

And before he realized, he was overwhelmed

warm

cheerful

full of life

"_Italy is pasta~ me and fratello are Italians~ we are pasta~"_

he missed his brother

so very much

it had been what, eight years

and his throat hurt

hurt with emotions.

Still smiling

didn't back away

didn't leave

emerald _green like Feliciano's courtyard_

the first time _and maybe last time_ in his life

someone else

not his brother

not his father

paid attention to him

fully to him

only to him

not shouting not angry not yelling not making it hurt

his heart swelled

swelled with emotions

hopeful

maybe,

just maybe,

he didn't dare to say it

happy.

_Green for his leaves._


	31. First Three

The Monday was a start, and Antonio was glad that he had decided to talk to his grumpy (was he?) junior.

It proved him that Romano wasn't only what he looked. Grumpy, often cranky, cursed a lot, glaring and scowling a lot.

He was interested after that first start in Monday, the first start of their interaction, the first start to know something new about Romano. Because in the same day, he learned that his Italian junior shared the same favorite food as him.

It was when Matthew spooned the tomato rings on his lunch and put them in his friend's.

"My my, Matthieu, don't you like tomato?" France asked, voice low and teasing, his arm was still on Matthew's shoulder (it was kind of funny since it made the younger boy all flustered and the Italian glared death at the French). "Naughty kid."

"It's not that I don't," Matthew replied, stammered a little. "But Romano likes them a lot. I don't mind sharing." And he managed a small, soft smile. Francis blinked, Gilbert laughed loudly.

Antonio brightened (literally), but before he had the chance to say anything, a series of actions happened. Francis purred in Matthew's ear. "Such a kind-heart, Matthieu. You made it impossible not to fall for you." Matthew turned redder (if that was even possible), and Romano stood up, and hit Francis head. Hard. It looked like. Because the next moment Francis was clutching his head and Matthew was released.

"Keep your fucking perverted dirty French hand and your goddamn French bullshits to yourself, bastard." He growled, golden eyes were narrowed and face twisted in anger (and a slight sprinkle of disgust maybe?). Gilbert laughed so hard he almost fell from his seat.

Matthew gave Romano a half-thankful half-scolding look, which the Italian ignored, and started to ask Francis if he was okay.

Romano had more strength than his look gave, the second thing he learned that day through his poor friend Francis who would surely gain a bruise (luckily not on his face, or he would be sobbing dramatically to him non-stop).

When the Italian was back to his seat, Antonio asked him excitedly. "I don't know you like tomatoes, Romano!"

"Why should you?" He jabbed one of the tomato rings with his fork and shoved it into his mouth angrily, still stealing an angry glance to Francis.

"Well, no," Antonio laughed. His junior was so funny! "But I'm glad that I know something about you."

The boy raised his brow in a skeptical look from his lunch. "And why would you want to?"

"Because we're friends, aren't we?" Antonio replied, cheerfully. "Friends are supposed to know each other. And I've known quite some things about Matthew. But I only know about you from him." He rested his arms on top of the table. "I want to know more, directly from you."

"Don't." Romano grunted and jabbed another tomato ring. "I don't want to be friends with any of you weirdo."

He learned the third thing that moment. Romano often didn't really mean what he said, maybe he never did. The slight blush and how he looked away when he said that were enough proof.

So his smile only widened at the reply.


	32. Calendar

Two months.

Two months since the start of the semester

two months since someone finally talked to Matthew

finally smiled _to_ him, not _at_ him

remembered him.

One and half months since his shades of colors changed a little

just a little

almost unnoticeable

but he put just a little bit

more white

and just a very tiny bit

less black

and he was surprised it wasn't that bad.

Two months

his pieces hadn't changed that much

colors that refused to blend

too much water

too less water

but one day Matthew walked to his canvas,

studying it, _violet that looked so good on him_

and said,

"Your colors softened.

Not as dark

but not very bright either

just softened."

and smiled to him, gentle like always.

He didn't realize that

because everyday he looked at the same canvas

at the same colors

at the same mistakes

and his art teacher didn't really pay attention to him

but he had never thought

that Matthew would be the first to notice

contrary to how he (_they) _was (_were_) always the last to be noticed

and to be smiled at.

Two months

since that had started again

the ugly feelings inside of him

dark abyss

swirling grey

devoured him

chanted _evil evil disgusting filthy worthless_

_you deserve no one_

because the circle had widened

it wasn't just him and Matthew anymore _blue purple red and violet_

there were that pervert French _red just like wine and roses_

that loud obnoxious albino _crimson and silver like blood and sword_

and that emergency stairs sunshine and rainbows _Antonio emerald like the brighter green_

_green for Feliciano's courtyard_

_green for his leaves_

and the abyss darkened

the chanting intensified

_he would leave me_

_go with the French bastard_

_and the albino bastard_

_and the tomato bastard_

_he would eventually leave me_

_leave me_

_alone alone alone_

_painful_

_anger_

_hatred (?)_

_jealousy_

_evil disgusting filthy worthless_

and his heart clenched every time five (four?) of them spent time together

every time French bastard talked to Matthew

every time Matthew laughed

every time albino bastard clapped Matthew's back

every time Antonio laughed with them

every time he felt out of place.

One and half a month

since the abyss wasn't always as dark

wasn't always as intense

didn't devour him every time

since the emergency stairs _Antonio_ talked to him

smiled to him

called his name

_remembered_ him.

And he didn't understand why

because one month and a half had passed

passed in the same routine

passed in the same small group

but not passed with him feeling out of place all the time

not with the abyss wanted to devour him every time

not with his head chanted _evil disgusting filthy you deserve no one_

_Antonio _had smiled

always did

_Antonio_ had talked

had remembered

always did

and the pit inside him swelled with a new emotion

_maybe_

_maybe_

_don't hope don't you ever dare to hope_

_maybe he does care_


	33. PE

It wasn't that he didn't like PE

but sometimes the lesson was just like a mockery

challenging him

_how can you hide them this time?_

_Blue purple (red)_

the teacher wouldn't believe the same lie more than twice

his furrowed eyebrows told him that

"_You sprained your ankle again?_

_I thought you had 2 weeks ago"_

It wasn't

always

that he skipped PE

it was just

often

as often as the grey shades in father's eyes

frustration

work

desperation

_disappointment_.

He didn't care if people thought things of him

he didn't care if they talked behind his back

he didn't care that much of PE either

he just didn't want the teacher to dislike him

because his PE teacher was nice

and he remembered his name (although it was because he skipped so often)

and seemed to care

"Don't tell me you have stomach ache again this time, Vargas."

His dark brows furrowed,

big

muscular

hard eyes

had a loud voice

but was a nice person.

"You've skipped four times in 2 months

how can you make up your grades to those absents?"

but as always he didn't say anything

refusing to look at the Cuban's eyes.

And as always his teacher just sighed

and in the end waved him off.

So he was off

off the field

off the gym

off the people in gym clothes

feeling Matthew's concerned eyes followed him as he left

avoided the changing room

and was finally on his own

in the emergency stairs

with his sketchbook and his pencil

and his little solitary world.


	34. Sketch

Antonio was in trouble once again, no, as always. That morning Gilbert had had an awesome plan ("as awesome as me!") when they discovered that the three of them had forgotten math homework. They had been off touring the city high speed the night before, and they had completely forgotten.

So Gil had said, "One for all, all for one!" and he and Francis had been dragged to his plan, because it was just like what he said too, "You guys don't have a better plan, do you? Kesesesese!"

Actually, Francis had. Skip class. But Gil had rejected, saying it was too old-fashioned and 'not-awesome-at-all'. So when lunch break came and they saw an opening, the Bad Friends Trio snuck into the faculty office and took the collected math assignments from their teacher's desk. They had planned to take the neatly stacked papers to the backyard and burned them all, once and for all and for good.

But then, the teacher entered the faculty office, looked down straight at them, and time froze. And of course they didn't waste anymore time. Gil had yelled, "For Prussia!" and thrown the papers to the air, straight to the teacher's furious face, and they scrambled to their feet and ran for their life.

Now, running out of breath, Antonio let out a shaky but hearty laugh as he stopped somewhere he saw safe. Using his hand as a support against the wall, he bent down and propped on his knees, taking his time to regain his breath.

It was when he noticed where he was.

The emergency stairs.

Quiet as always.

But maybe, maybe, coincidence did happen?

Antonio pushed the red door open,

and he grinned from eye to eye

because there was his Italian junior

in his usual hoodie, but this time it was green (new one maybe?)

sitting on the floor, knees up, sketchbook rested safely on them

hand danced across the paper.

"Hola, Romano!" he greeted, approaching him. And the boy lifted his head from his work, golden eyes met his, but it wasn't long before he looked away, a scowl on the previously neutral (almost peaceful) face.

"What the hell are you doing here?"

"What about you?" Antonio plopped down to the spot next to him, and the Italian took no time to scoot away. "I thought you have PE class?"

"Don't answer question with fucking question, bastard." Romano's scowl deepened and he closed his sketchbook, lowering it to the floor. "I asked first."

Antonio laughed and scratched the back of his head. "I guess that's fair. I'm an escapee," he grinned at the look on his junior's face. "from the teacher."

Romano snorted. "Guess one of your fucking ridiculous act again."

Antonio cringed, "You got me right." Leaning back so his back was rested against the cold wall, he said. "It's your turn now. Why do you skip PE?"

"I don't skip!" The Italian threw him a glare. "I'm just… absent."

"Are you sick?" Antonio straightened, looking at his junior. That boy looked perfectly healthy for him, except for the fact that he wore hoodie every day, every minute, every seconds. A bit skinny too, but he was small so it was only expectable. Still, Antonio couldn't help but worry. He placed the back of his hand onto the boy's forehead.

"I'm not!" Romano jerked away and slapped his hand, eyes wide and face turned red. The sudden movement made his hoodie's sleeves fell down a bit and Antonio saw a bluish mark on his hand, a bit below his wrist. He caught his hand to take a better look but the next second, a head collided with his painfully, sending him stumbling back and releasing his grip.

Added to the fact about Romano's strength : his headbutt was absolutely painful.

"Don't touch me!" The Italian scooted farther away, pulling his sleeve back. "You pervert!"

"Sorry, I didn't mean to." Recovering from his pain, Antonio looked up at him and managed a sheepish smile. "It was reflex."

Romano glared at him for few good minutes before slowly scooted back to the wall, though no closer to him. Antonio's heart sunk a bit but he kept his expression neutral.

Awkward silence passed as Romano pulled back his sketchbook onto his lap and resumed his sketching. Antonio sat there staring absentmindedly at the ceiling, his mind wandering to whether or not Francis and Gil had gotten away successfully from their teacher's wrath. They must be. They were Bad Friends Trio after all! And even if they hadn't, they should be alright. Nothing to worry about. Antonio grinned to himself.

"You look like an idiot," Antonio blinked and looked back at his companion beside him. Face still buried in his sketchbook, Romano said without lifting his head. "I forgot, you _are_ an idiot."

Antonio pouted. "That's not very nice, Romano."

The Italian only shrugged. Antonio leaned his head back a bit and took a peek at what he was drawing, and his eyes widened.

It was a very good sketch, rough, but detailed. And the sketch looked exactly like Romano.

"It's really good," Antonio piped out. "Is it you?"

"Don't peek, bastard." Romano scooted farther again, glaring at him. "And it's not."

"Eh? Then who is it?" Antonio scooted closer to his retreating junior, taking a bigger step and arrived on his side with ease. "That look exactly like you."

"It's not me." Romano growled and flipped his sketchbook closed. "It's…" He hesitated for a second, eyes suddenly distant. "It's my brother."


	35. Crack

He didn't know what was in his mind, what devil had possessed him

but he ended up saying it

"It's my brother."

and the armor he kept inside cracked a bit,

just a tiny bit

but it was cracked

"You have a brother?"

"Yeah."

"He looks like your mirror image!"

"We are twins, moron."

"Twins?"

"Fuck yeah."

"Where is he? He doesn't attend the same school as you?"

"I don't know where he is."

"What?"

and then it was a battle again

_why did you tell him? / I want him to know,_

_why did you tell him? / I want _someone_ to know_

_why did you tell him? / because I want to believe that someone does care_

_he doesn't, he was just a passerby / maybe he isn't_

_what makes you so sure about that? / I don't know_

_even Matthew needed a year to finally know you have a brother / That…_

_what makes him different? / He remembers_

_then what? / I…_

_you want to be pitied? / no!_

_you want him to say "I'm sorry."? / no!_

_you want him to think 'he is a really poor guy. He has an abusive father, his brother is somewhere away, his mother doesn't want him'? / no…_

_then why? / I just want to let it all out_

_for what? / I'm tired of keeping them inside_

_that won't work, you know / I know, but…_

_even though you're tired, you don't have the right / I know_

_you don't have the right to stop / I know_

_you can rest for a while if you want to / I know_

_but you can't, I repeat, _can't_ let anyone inside_

_don't let anyone inside_

_once they see, they'll leave_

_they'll snort at you, look at you like you're some kind of evil (which you are)_

_evil disgusting filthy you deserve no one_

_you're safe if you're alone /_

_I know_

"You don't know where he is? Why is that?"

"Stop asking, bastard. It's none of your business."

And he left the emergency stairs

_you made a crack_

_just a tiny crack, but it can't be fixed_

_don't make anymore crack_

_or you'll crumble to dust_

_to nothing_.

* * *

><p><strong>I'm not sure if there will be any Feliciano's part anymore, since now I'm focused on Romano and Antonio. Maybe he will, but maybe just 1 or 2<strong>


	36. Hoping

That abyss came again that day when school was about to end.

Matthew said that Francis had invited him to go with them to the shopping district nearby

it was Friday anyway

and his heart sank

even though Matthew had asked if he would like to come along too.

He shook his head no

"Don't want to hang around with those bastards." was his answer

and as always,

Matthew looked disappointed, but did not press

never the one to

"Okay then…."

and the inside of him was thrown into a fit of battle again

like it always did these past few days

_why don't you go with him? / I don't want to_

_why? / I don't want to be around those bastards_

_I thought you said you'll 'protect' Matthew? / I thought you said I'm a liar_

_I forgot. You _are_ a liar_

_you do care, but it was only a small part of you_

_so small it was hidden in the back_

_so small it was quickly forgotten_

_the reason of you wanting to 'protect' him wasn't because that French bastard was a pervert, the albino bastard was a bad influence, and the tomato bastard was far too stupid to do the protection_

_the reason you do that_

_is because you're jealous_

_right?_

_You don't want him to change_

_You don't want him to start hang around with them_

_befriends them_

_laugh with them_

_because by then he'll realize_

_he'll realize that you're just a jerk_

_egoist, possessive, evil disgusting filthy /_

_if you know the answer, why bother asking?_

_Because you're weird / so?_

_You don't want it to change / I fucking do_

_so why don't you go with him? 'Protect' him? /_

_because I don't want to be an outsider_

_I don't want to be left out_

_because that is exactly what'll happen_

They walked together to the lockers

and at the front gate of the school, Matthew was waited

by a French bastard

an albino bastard

and the tomato bastard.

French bastard slung his arm on Matthew's shoulders like always

and he gave him a good deadly keep-your-dirty-hand-to-yourself-you-pervert-and-don't-fuck-him-or-I'm-fucking-killing-you.

Albino bastard was loud and started talking as always

and he ignored him and was ignored by him, it was for the best.

Tomato bastard was smiling at him

_don't look don't smile back don't even think about that_

_maybe he does care_

"You come with us, right, Romano?"

_he does care_

_no he doesn't you stupid dickhead_

"Fucking no."

"Why?"

"I don't want to hang around you bastards. You'll give me germs."

"Come on, it'll be fun!"

"I said no."

_he does care_

_no he doesn't you shithead, he's just being nice_

"Toni, if he doesn't want to go, then leave him be! The awesome me can't wait longer! The shopping district is calling!"

_he does care_

_no he doesn't. He'll eventually leave you for his friends. Who are you to him anyway?_

"But…"

"Let's go, _mon ami_. It's not very nice to force someone to go with us, you know."

_I don't know_

_nah, don't hope don't you ever dare to hope_

The two bastards started to walk away, French bastard's arm still on Matthew's shoulders

and tomato bastard _Antonio_ looked torn

_between what?_

_There's only one option for him, right?_

_You sound like a hoping schoolgirl_

_I _am_ a schoolboy_

"Go with us next time, okay?"

and tomato bastard smiled to him and ruffled his hair

that simple gesture threw the memory back to him

father had been smiling

big and warm hand on his head

ruffling his hair

and it was painful that he would never do that anymore now

he suddenly felt pathetic

because he should have stopped to hope

hoping for father to stop

to love him again

to smile to him again

hoping for mother to come back

to say she loved him

hoping to meet Feliciano

to see his silly smile

how much he had grown

was he still the same.

"See you on Monday, Romano!"

and tomato bastard was off with his friends.


	37. Ruin

Now, these days

almost everyday, father was depressed

was angry

shades of grey splattered all over him

his shadow got longer.

Almost everyday, but not always

every weekends

shout

yell

anger

frustration

would sound

would resonate

unleashed everything inside

fist

leg

would fly

would move

unleashed everything inside

and there were blue purple _black_ again

_ugly ugly ugly_

just like he had used a new color

father had used a new word

"You ruined everything"

and he knew that _maybe_ he didn't

it was most likely that father just unleashed his anger at him

blindly.

But how could one not think back

to his birth certificate he had found years ago

that said "Romano Lovino Vargas"

and to a book he had randomly picked when he was at elementary school

to the same book that had given his life new colors

_blue purple red_

to the same book that had one passage that he could remember until the day he died

"As an Italian word, _Rovino_ derives from the word _Rovinaire _ which means 'to collapse', 'to wreck', thus literally means 'I ruin'."

And it still echoed inside his ears even now

would always did.

"You ruined everything!"

and he didn't quite believe that father was only attacking him blindly anymore.

_You ruin_

_I ruin_

_even though I haven't done anything to ruin his life_

_maybe you have, you just don't know._

* * *

><p><strong>Thank you <strong>**Alice Vargas, for the suggestion :)**_  
><em>


	38. Out

Out

he needed to be out

out of his _his father's_ house

out of his father's life

for the good of both of them.

That Saturday night

as he laid on the cold tile of the kitchen

the cold felt so nice against his skin

it cooled down his bruise

_blue purple black_

the kitchen lamp was too bright

it stung his eyes

but he didn't have the strength to stand up yet

so he let it

and he thought

he must leave

leave for good

for his good, _blue purple black red I ruin_

for father's good _ failure why don't you smile why can't you smile don't look at me like that you ruined everything._

To live on his own means a new place

a new place for himself

only for himself

and a job

and he had neither for now.

But his mind strayed back to the girls conversation

about part-time jobs

part-time

reasonable salary

wouldn't interfere with school if he could manage

father wouldn't find out if he could hide it.

He was a first-year in high school

if he started now

maybe by the end of the second year

he would be able to afford it

maybe an apartment

small one

and he would be out

out for good

and he couldn't help but to smile a little

even though his face hurt so much.


	39. Friends

On Mondays, Romano was always in a sour mood, that was what Antonio learned next.

He was quieter, glared more often, hit Francis more often, and talked harsher.

Antonio didn't know why.

He wanted to know, but didn't know how to.

Since the talk about his brother, Romano had gone back again, back to his shell.

Antonio knew he had made a very tiny crack, and it was a first step. He was determined to make the tiny and seemingly not-a-big-deal crack into a bigger one, until he eventually knew what was inside. Because something in Romano just screamed for it, for someone to crack him, no, to _see _him.

Antonio didn't know that he had been spacing out until he heard a familiar, "Antonio!" He lifted his head and his friend Bella smothered him with a hug. "Hola, Bella!" Antonio greeted back cheerfully.

Ned towered behind her, glaring at him, and Antonio gulped. "Long time no see, Ned."

Bella waved to both Francis and Gilbert, the French mouthed "we'll look for seats. Take your time." and dragged both Gil and Matthew into the cafeteria after returning Bella's wave with one.

"Who's that?" Bella asked, her eyes fell to the smaller figure standing awkwardly behind Antonio. "Is that a new junior?" Her face curved into a bright smile as she bounced over to him. "Hi! What's your name?"

Antonio turned around to look at Romano's slightly red face, and the Italian replied, "Romano."

"I guess you're a first-year?" Bella threw her arms around him, pulling him into a gleeful hug. "You're so cute!"

Antonio laughed at Romano's red face. "Romano, you look like a tomato!"

"Shut up!" The Italian yelled back, glaring at him.

Oblivious to it, Antonio grinned and introduced them. "Bella, this is Romano, my new friend and junior. Romano, this is Bella, and…" he glanced nervously across his back to the Dutch behind him. "Her brother Ned. Bella is second year like me, and Ned is in his final year."

"Nice to meet you!" Bella laughed and nuzzled into Romano's hair. "You're so cute! I won't mind you being my little brother!"

Ned approached, eyeing him for a moment, but Antonio's mouth fell open when the tall man said, "Nice to meet you." and his lips curved ever so slightly upward to the Italian. Ned didn't even say anything on their first meeting! He had been glaring at him the whole time!

"Bel, I think you'll kill Romano if you keep that up." Antonio grinned and nodded at the red-faced Romano. "He'll die of face-heating or heart-attack."

Bella laughed and released him. "Sorry, sorry! Well, let's have lunch together!" Ned didn't seem to approve, but Bella took Antonio and Romano on their arms and pulled them into the cafeteria with her. Her brother only sighed in defeat and followed them inside.

* * *

><p><strong>Headcanon use here : Netherlands has a soft spot for Romano<strong>


	40. Weekend

A week after his meeting with Bella and Ned

a week after they decided to be his friends

three days after he finally gave in to them

three days after he finally had the courage to say it

friends.

And this Friday after school, the tomato bastard _Antonio_ was grinning at him

as French bastard talked to Matthew

and albino bastard loudly talked about his awesomeness (that had started to become boring) to no one in particular.

"Do you have plans today?"

He lifted his head and noticed that the question was directed at him

from tomato bastard _Antonio_

and he blinked.

"No?"

"Great!" Tomato bastard _Antonio_ beamed a thousand watts. "Then you can come with us!"

_What?_

"I told you I don't want to-"

"Bella asked me to go with her and Ned and help her pick shoes and dress for her friend's party, and she asked me to ask you to come too!"

_Too many 'ask' _ He had started to wonder if tomato bastard ever learned how to talk in a-not-confusing way

it kind of reminded him of Feliciano.

"So by 'us', I meant me, you, Bella, and Ned!"

That cheerful sunshine smile again

and he found himself staring, mouth slightly agape

_just go with them_

_you won't be ignored_

_you won't feel out of place_

_Matthew has French bastard and albino bastard_

_maybe you'll have ones like them too._

Not long after, he was walking

in a mall

between Bella and tomato bastard _Antonio_

Ned was next to his sister

and they were chatting

four of them were chatting

four, not just three.

Bella picked out a black high-heels

Antonio beamed

Ned grumbled in disagreement

he shook his head no.

Bella picked out another ones

Antonio beamed brighter

Ned grumbled again

he raised his brow and said, "Not bad."

At the dress shop, she walked in and out fitting room

black blue cream yellow red green

dress that made her look elegant, look childish, look pathetic, look beautiful

swirl of colors and comments and Antonio's smile and Ned's frown and his own curses and Bella's laughter.

He didn't realize it was evening when Bella finally got a beautiful dress with pairs of shoes to match with it

he didn't realize that there was no trace of the abyss

he didn't realize that the voices inside him was encouraging him

he didn't realize until they settle down at a small, crowded, but nice restaurant

and they chose from the menu

and they ate and talked and Antonio was being stupid like always and Bella laughed and talked about latest gossip at school and Ned was quiet and watching like a guard dog

and he was relaxed

none of those ugly feelings

instead, warmth settled on his stomach, up to his chest

and he felt belong.

It was noisy and cheerful and full of laughter around him

and he wasn't feeling alone

Antonio was grinning

Bella was laughing

Ned's lips curved upward ever so slightly

and he was smiling.

* * *

><p><strong>Sorry for the lack of fashion sense... 8"D<strong>

**And gosh, chapter 40! I stretched this out too long, didn't I?  
><strong>


	41. Math

He was sitting at his desk after school

frowning at the math formulas on his book

and tomato bastard sat across him

holding a similar book with a small amused smile.

Two weeks before the finals

three days after he had mustered his courage

and held down his pride

and ignored the voice inside him teasing him

and asked Antonio for tutoring

and tomato bastard had agreed instantly.

"You remember this formula? You use this for problem like this and like this one."

Antonio was patient

he had his smile and his grin and his beaming eyes all the time

and he didn't understand why

because he felt stupid and he was stupid

and somehow the voice inside him had found a way to insert _why am I stuck with you_ into its teasing

but Antonio didn't frown didn't scowl didn't look at him with those (_father's_) look

Antonio repeated his teachings when he didn't understand

laughed when he glared at the math problems

grinned when he threw words and snapped at him

encouraged him when he had almost given up on those stupid fucking math.

He didn't understand Antonio

didn't understand him at all

didn't understand why he still talked to him

smiled to him

laughed at his insults and curses

didn't leave

he didn't understand him

and maybe he never would

like he didn't and would never understand math.


	42. See

Six months, if his count was correct. Antonio wasn't the type of person who would count days anyway. Back to the matter, let's just say that six months had passed since the start of new semester, since he met Matthew and Romano.

A bit less than six months since he had actually paid attention and was interested at Romano.

In those a bit less than six months, Antonio had learned quite a bit about him. He loved tomatoes, he had strength despite his looks, he didn't always mean what he said. He blushed and got embarrassed quite easily. He seemed to hate both Francis and Gilbert. He was protective over Matthew. He had a brother whom he refused to talk about, he skipped (was absent, he had to fix his choice of words or Romano would be mad again) PE class quite often. He liked the emergency stairs (it was kind of weird, but it was cute!). He loved art.

And he looked alone, even though he said otherwise.

So Antonio was glad that he had introduced Bella (and Ned * gulp *) to him, even though it was kind of late. Because after that, Romano looked like he was having fun. He looked like he actually liked being with them. He looked happy.

And somehow, seeing him like that made Antonio happy too, like he had achieved something.

But it wasn't all. He was still far from what he would call achievement. Because Romano was still distant. Closed, hidden behind a set of walls, and refused to open up even though everything about him just screamed (_pleaded_) to.

It's okay. Antonio was his friend, and he wouldn't force him to quickly. If Romano needed time, Antonio would wait. He would peel the walls off little by little, cracking patiently.

And he himself still didn't understand why he was so determined to, making an effort for that. Maybe it was because just like he had said before, everything about Romano just screamed to be cracked, to be opened, to be truly seen. And Antonio didn't understand why other people couldn't see that.

They ignored that.

Was he the only one who could see?

Not that he mind though.

He was happy and a bit proud that he could read Romano better a bit these days. Like now, when they were sitting at Romano's desk, math books opened between them, and the Italian glared at the math problems, his golden eyes glimmered under the light of the sun setting outside.

Antonio couldn't help but smile at the sight. The boy was so cute! He looked like the math problems had thrown potatoes (which he hated with passion) at his face.

He leaned a bit to explain a formula to him, and when he lifted his eyes, he saw the exasperate ones of the boy before him.

Exasperate, anxious, desperate, _embarrassment_.

And Antonio smiled. "Don't worry, Romano. I had difficulties too with math back then. But I got Bella to teach me." The golden eyes were still unconvinced, clouded, screamed with _"Why can't I understand these? Why am I so stupid?"_ so he patted his junior's back. "You are not stupid, Romano. And don't think you're causing me trouble. I have fun doing this."

One look at those glimmering golden eyes once again, and Antonio knew he had been right, and he had convinced him.

He grinned reassuringly.


	43. Weakened

Weakened

his barriers inside had weakened

and he was terrified

_crack_

_crack_

_crack_

_another crack and you'll crumble_

_to dust_

_to nothing_

_to ruin_

_colorless_

_blue purple black_

_red_

_but still colorless_

he tried his hardest to keep them stand

but he knew _desperately_ that he couldn't

hopelessly couldn't

because Antonio smiled and talked to and still didn't leave him

because Bella hugged and looked at him and still didn't leave him

because Ned spoke to and curved his lips ever so slightly upward at him and still didn't leave him

because Matthew looked happy and was remembered and for once was truly seen

and didn't leave him

because he desperately wanted to be too.

He was terrified

because he could no longer suppress that wish

could no longer hide it and prayed for it to just disappear

could no longer not hoping.

Like this afternoon, school had ended

the building was almost empty

and he was in the art room _golden orange poster color oil paint acrylic and watercolor white canvases_

looking at his piece

ruined like usual

and his heart was heavy

disappointed

upset

to no one but himself

too less water

too much water

colors that couldn't blend

same mistakes

so often that it was like a déjà vu

all over again.

But then it was painted soft grey

a shadow loomed over his painting

tall and soft edges

and surprisingly familiar.

"That's beautiful…" Antonio looked at his painting _his failure_

with such gentle eyes

and warm smile

and he felt his chest tightened painfully

because no one had ever looked at his painting (_at himself, all of him_) like that

because no one had ever told him his painting was beautiful the way Antonio did.

"Don't lie," He had had his frown and glare and scowl since his birth and they were his best allies. "No one will believe that shit."

"I'm not lying."

he didn't want to notice the sincerity in that voice

he didn't want his barrier to weaken more

he didn't want to crumble

he didn't want to hope

"Don't sugar-coat your words just because you feel sorry for me. It's disgusting."

and why did that tomato bastard _Antonio_ looked hurt?

"I'm telling the truth. I won't lie."

It was a painful battle inside again

_what a liar bastard_

_he's not lying, he's sincere about that_

_he must be. No sane person will judge _that_ piece like that_

_no, he's honest_

_don't hope don't you ever dare to hope_

"Give me a reason why I would believe you," he knocked his fist on the canvas

and Antonio flinched

"when you said such an obvious, big fat, sugar-coated, lie?"

"Why are you so sure it was a lie?" Tomato bastard _Antonio_'s face was serious

his eyes _emerald, green like Feliciano's courtyard green like his leaves _were sincere and _desperate._

"Because there is nothing beautiful in this piece of junk."

_because there is nothing beautiful in me_

and Antonio looked hurt again, much more than before.

"It is beautiful," he persisted, looking at him

right into his eyes

emerald _so deep so bright so beautiful green like Feliciano's courtyard_

into his golden ones _not glimmering clouded and shady it was almost grey blue and purple and black_

"It has some mistakes with the paint, true. But it is what makes it beautiful."

"How's so, bastard?" and he winced at how he sounded so hopeful so _desperate_

_because how could flaws look beautiful?_

_why can't you smile why don't you smile don't look at me like that_

_you ruined everything_

"I can tell how much effort you've put into it just by looking. Maybe people will say it's bad, but for me it's effort."

and his heart clenched painfully again

because he didn't know how long he had hoped

that someone would finally see

truly see

because he had long since thought

that it was such a stupid hope

something ugly would be ugly to everyone

something ugly wouldn't turn into something beautiful

it wasn't like how the ugly duckling could turn into a graceful swan

because it was just a fairy tale

and fairy tales weren't real.

He hadn't noticed that Antonio had stretched out his hand

and his fingers _looked calloused warm comforting _touched the painting ever so gently and so carefully

"This is you and your brother, isn't it?"

_How…_

"How…" his voice was hoarse and shaky

_crack_

_crack_

_crack_

"How did you know?"

_crack_

_crack_

_crack_


	44. Brother

"How did you know?"

The voice held a shaky edge to it, and Antonio could feel it. He cracked a big portion of that barrier. Turning his head, his eyes met the golden ones, wide and shocked and _terrified (hoping)_.

He smiled down at the painting. Really, it was beautiful. Two kids without face were drawing. But on their papers there wasn't any pictures. There were colors.

Green white and red

same colors but with different shades.

The background had two sides, on the left there was a house with orange wall and courtyard filled with sunflowers. Light blue sky towered above it with white clouds, but upon closer look there were lines of silver too. Even though the background was painted with cheerful colors, but there were signs of softer ones in them. Orange was blended with white into a softer hue. Sunflowers' yellow were blended with calmer golden. Light blue sky met with the deeper blue above.

But the right background made him frown, confused.

Blue purple splattered with black, held a shade of red. Rough strokes and edges, so foreign with the one next to it, seemed foreign even though they were in the same canvas.

And realization hit him like a ton of bricks, painful and sad. His breath hitched on his throat.

"Romano, this painting is you," He turned to face the younger man, who seemed to have shrunk on his spot, head down and face obscured by his brown locks. "Everything in this painting is you," The Italian didn't move, didn't say anything. "Isn't it?"

The silence was the answer.

He was right.

And Romano didn't want to talk about it.

Reluctantly, pain weighed heavily on his heart, he decided to change the topic. "Is this you and your brother as children?"

"Yeah."

He was surprised because he didn't expect an answer, but Romano had lifted his head, face surprisingly blank.

"Where is he now?" Maybe this is the right time to talk about the subject.

"I don't know." Romano took a cloth from the corner of the room and covered his painting with it.

"How come?" Antonio pressed, gently, carefully. He wanted to know, to understand, but he didn't want to hurt him. He cracked ever so gently, the strong barrier and the delicate shards.

"Our parents divorced when we were eight," Romano collected his tools and stuffed them into his backpack. He returned the paint to their racks. "My brother went with my mom, I went with father."

"And they don't live in the same city as you?"

Romano shook his head, slinging his backpack onto his shoulders. "Father took me and moved out after that." He slid the door open. "Aren't you leaving, bastard?"

Antonio nodded and left the art room with him. They walked side by side to the lockers, neither said anything.

"What's his name?" Antonio finally got courage to break the silence when they arrived at the lockers. "Your brother."

Romano closed his locker with a slam, but he didn't look angry. Just blank. "Feliciano."

And they fell silent again on the way to the school gate. But before they parted ways outside of school, Antonio grabbed Romano's wrist, making the Italian turn to him, eyebrow raised.

"Thank you," He smiled to him. "Thank you for telling me, Romano." He meant it.

Romano only shrugged and pulled his hand away. Watching his retreating back, Antonio couldn't help but to think how small it was.

* * *

><p><strong>A little AN:**

**End semester holiday is coming and tomorrow I'll be going home, and there's no internet connection there so **I won't be able to update and/or reply to your reviews for about two weeks or so.** But there surely will be an update as soon as I get internet connection again. Hope you'll understand *bow*  
><strong>

**Thank you for all of you, kind readers who read and review this, and who put this in fave and/or alert. Best wishes for you all :DDD  
><strong>


	45. Gravity

Dependant

dependant to that smile

dependant to the sound sincere words

dependant to those eyes

emerald _green like Feliciano leaves, no, it was different_

_like violet was Matthew_

_and crimson was Gilbert_

_and blue purple black was him_

_emerald was Antonio._

He'd told him about his brother

about Feliciano

about that one and only part that tied him to the world,

when mom's promise was no more but a cruel lie

Feliciano

his silly smile, his innocent face, his bright drawing

even though they were all just his memories, he didn't know how his brother would look like now.

He'd told Antonio

and there was no going back

because by then his barrier was cracking

badly, hopelessly beyond repair

he had hoped

he had opened up

he had become dependant on Antonio

voices inside him screamed in battle

relieved, trusting, hoping

_angry, disbelieving, desperate, terrified_

he would eventually get hurt, he knew

blue and purple and black all splattered on the emerald

and Antonio would eventually leave him when he saw that

saw that his hopes were crushed

saw that what he had called beautiful was nothing more than ugly shades of colors

blue and purple and black and red

saw that there was nothing inside him except of jealousy, anger, bitterness, cowardice, _evil disgusting_

saw that

he was worthless.

He knew but he was helpless as he was pulled

attracted by the gravity of the sun

the sun that one day would realized that he was not a star,

just a small, very small, mass of gas

and would kick him away, released its gravity that had kept him around

and let him fall down, floating in the darkness.

He was terrified of it, but it was too late now

because he couldn't let go anymore.


	46. Belong

Finally the final exams had passed. Antonio was overjoyed by it. A long holiday was coming, which meant no more studying. He couldn't wait to spend the holiday with his friends, doing crazy acts like always and maybe going to someplace outside the city.

But that wasn't the main thing that made him getting all warm and jumpy at heart. The main thing was his Italian junior.

One year (maybe a bit less than one year?) spending time with him and finally he could truly see.

After the afternoon which he had told him about his brother, Romano seemed to relax more around them (them being him, Bella, Ned, and Matthew. Sadly, Francis and Gilbert couldn't be put into the list, but Antonio would try that later!). Antonio could still feel that the boy was desperately trying to build up walls again, but for some reason it was like Romano was finally giving in, although not entirely.

He'd told him about his twin brother, and by the look of it, he certainly missed him. Romano was a year younger than him, that meant it had been nine years since the last time those brothers met.

Then the painting. Antonio could see through it too. Strangely, just by looking at that he could know a lot of things. He could see that Feliciano must be a cheerful and happy boy. Those bright colors indicated that. But what troubled him was the way Romano thought of himself. Blue, purple, black, shades of red. Dark colors.

Empty.

And his words back then. _"Because there's nothing beautiful in this piece of junk."_ So strong, so convinced, so _desperate_, and Antonio found it painful.

He could change that. He would change that.

Antonio was able to see, so he wanted Romano to see too.

Romano said it was ugly, but Antonio couldn't say the same. Because no matter how he looked at it, it was someone who threw insults at him, cursed, hit with surprising strength, yelled, scowled instead of smiled, blushed and looked away, refused to be honest,

but it was the same someone who made him smile, made him happy and laughed, made him feeling warm inside, made him care and not pity.

How could such thing, that someone, be ugly?

Romano wasn't fragile, he wasn't really strong either.

But he was trying really hard to be.

And Antonio had never had such strong feelings before, to protect, to make him smile, to make him happy,

to make him feel belong.

Because he could see

because he could understand

because he didn't want to ever see him fall

to ever see him sad

Antonio knew, as cliché as that sounded, he belonged to him.

* * *

><p><strong>*hides in the corner from embarrassment* Really, romantic stuff isn't really my thing. I wanted to make it as sincere as possible, but I ended up making it so cliche...<strong>


	47. Honesty

Gods, father was truly something

he could change the atmosphere so drastically, he could basically be God's assistant or something

one day he went home happy because the final exams had ended and he had spent some time with his friends in a kind of finals-have-ended celebration

the next day he was on the floor, cold, aching all over, sore all over

and realized something

long holiday was coming in a day

meant more of it

much more of it.

At least he had one last day at school before it.

The next day came,

blue purple black

spots on his knees and thigh

big bruise on his side

his back burned where the knife grazed him

and his ears rang

rang from the echo

"_You ruined everything!_

_There's a woman who likes me_

_but these past few weeks she's been avoiding me!_

_You ruined it!_

_Why can't you see me happy just for once?_

_I couldn't reach the quota I was assigned to either!_

_My friends started to avoid me!_

_You ruined everything!_

_Why don't you just go for good?_

_Then I won't have to pay for you anymore!_

_Your school, your food, your monthly allowance, everything!_

_Why must I be a father of an ungrateful child like you?"_

He told himself father was just upset

his life and his work hadn't been going well

so he put all the blame to him

of course because he was a failure, always was a failure

to his father (maybe not only to him)

but the echo taunted him, mocked him,

broke him down to his core

and the ache of his limbs felt surprisingly dull.

He had been aware that he was still alive because father had obligations and fulfilled it

he was well aware of it

but he hadn't thought that it would be this… hard _painful, shattering _ to hear them screamed to his face

so if he hadn't gone to school, father would be better

so if he hadn't been eating, father would be much better

so if he hadn't been placed onto his father's custody, father would be much happier

if he hadn't existed in the first place, maybe father would still be happy and smiling

with mother with Feliciano.

cloud cloud cloud _grey_

couldn't see couldn't hear _didn't want to_

the red that was so familiar

the emergency staircase _home_

school had ended for today, the building was surprisingly very empty

people hurried home, tomorrow was the first day of holiday anyway

empty

quiet

but peaceful

warm

golden orange red

heart-wrenching.

"Falling a thousand feet per second, you still take me by surprise,"

"_Romano, right?"_

"_You come with us, right, Romano?"_

"_So by 'us', I mean you, me, Bella, and Ned!"_

"I just know we can't be over, I can see it in your eyes,"

_emerald, green like Feliciano's leaves_

_golden orange yellow_

_like a sun_

Hoping, _don't hope don't you ever dare to hope_

"Making every kind of silence, it takes a lot to realize it's worse to finish than to start all over and never let it lie.

And as long as I can feel you holding on, I won't fall even though you said I was wrong,"

"_Are you sick?"_

_His concern, his honesty, his genuine words_

"_It's really good. Is it you?"_

"_Go with us next time, okay?"_

His breath hitched in his throat

it was painful

painful

painful

and he let it all out

honesty

even that he wasn't allowed to have

only this one and only moment he was allowed to be

"I'm not perfect,"

_brown, cream, blue gold,_

_not orange, not light blue, not yellow, not red_

_why are you looking at me like that_

_why don't you smile_

_why can't you smile_

_why can't you be like your brother_

_why can't you smile like him_

"But I'll keep trying, 'cause that's what I said I would do from the start,"

_washed the dishes_

_cleaned the house_

_cleaned his room_

_couldn't find his brother's things_

_drew with red yellow orange light blue_

_but why did it hurt?_

_hurt_

_hurt_

"I'm not alive if I'm lonely, so please don't leave,"

"_I'm sorry,_

_I'm sorry,_

_I'm sorry._

_I'll come back, I promise_

_I'll come back for you_

_I promise_

_I love you."_

"Was it something I said or just my personality?"

"_Help me, Mother,_

_Help me, Father,"_

_blue purple_

_red on his wrist_

"_I'm sorry_

_I'm sorry_

_I'm sorry_

_I wouldn't do that again_

_so please stop_

_I'm sorry"_

"Making every kind of silence, it takes a lot to realize it's worse to finish than to start all over and never let it lie.

And as long as I can feel you holding on, I won't fall even though you said I was wrong,"

_Antonio smiled_

_he talked to him_

_he remembered his name_

_he remembered him_

_he introduced him to Bella and Ned_

_he gave him friends_

_he smiled_

_he _smiled

"And I know that I'm not perfect,"

_blue purple black_

_golden, shady and clouded, not glimmering_

_not smiling_

_why don't you smile_

_why can't you smile_

_why can't you be like your brother_

_why can't you smile like him_

_empty_

"But I'll keep trying, 'cause that's what I said I would do from the start,"

_only had art_

_only belonged there_

_poster colors_

_oil paint_

_watercolor and acrylic_

_white canvases_

_sunset, beautiful, warm, comforting_

_geranium, graceful, modest, welcoming_

"I'm not alive if I'm lonely, so please don't leave,"

_why didn't mom come?_

_She promised_

_she promised_

_she promised_

_she promised_

_she promised_

"Was it something I said, or just my personality?"

_she promised_

_brown, cream, blue gold,_

_she promised_

_black blue purple_

_she promised_

_red_

_she promised_

_failure_

_she promised_

_worthless_

_she promised_

_you ruined everything_

"When you're caught in a lie, and you've got nothing to hide,"

_evil disgusting filthy you deserve no one_

_she lied_

"When you've got nowhere to run, and you've got nothing inside,"

_why am I stuck with you_

_go away, you're a nuisance_

_why do you look at me like that_

_too much water_

_too less water_

_trash_

_worthless_

_even in the only place he belonged_

"It tears right through me, you thought that you knew me,"

"_It's beautiful"_

"_Don't lie"_

"_I'm not lying"_

"_Don't sugarcoat your words just because you feel sorry for me_

_it's disgusting."_

"_I'm telling the truth. I won't lie."_

"_I can tell how much effort you've put into it just by looking. Maybe people will say it's bad, but for me it's effort."_

_So bright, so beautiful, like a sun_

_a sun that he could never reach_

_a sun that would leave him one day once he realized_

_that he wasn't a star_

"You thought that you knew…"

"_This is you and your brother, isn't it?"_

"I'm not perfect, but I'll keep trying,"

_you ruined everything_

_Romano Lovino Vargas_

_As an Italian word, Rovino derives from the word Rovinaire which means 'to collapse', 'to wreck', thus literally means 'I ruin'_

_you ruined everything_

" 'Cause that's what I said I would do from the start,"

_green for Feliciano's courtyard_

_white for Feliciano's cloud_

_red for Feliciano's roof_

_two part time jobs_

_studying_

_asking Antonio to tutor him_

_I'm here_

_I'm trying_

_I'm fighting_

"I'm not alive if I'm lonely, so please don't leave,"

"_Help me, Father_

_Help me, Mother_

_Mom, where are you?"_

_kicks to his knees and his thighs and his sides_

_belt onto his back_

_punches to his face_

_hands to his neck_

_knife for his back_

_words (**truth**) for his ears_

"_Mom, where are you?_

_Help me."_

"Was it something I said, or just my personality?"

_why are you looking at me like that_

_why don't you smile_

_why can't you smile_

_why can't you be like your brother_

_why can't you smile like him_

_you ruined everything_

_why can't you see me happy just for once_

_why don't you just **go** for **good**_

"I'm not perfect but I keep trying cause that's what I said I would do from the start.

I'm not alive if I'm lonely, so please don't leave. Was it something I said or just my, just myself?

Just myself?"

_you ruined everything_

_she promised_

_evil disgusting filthy you deserve no one_

_why don't you just go for good?_

"Myself? Just myself?"

Honest, he was honest

he was just a coward

evil

disgusting

he called them friends, but he didn't trust them

horrible, horrible friend he was

_they'll leave_

_they'll leave once they know_

_don't trust_

_don't hope_

_don't you ever dare to hope_

"I'm not perfect, but I'll keep trying."

Stripped bare for the whole world to see

blue purple black on his thighs, on his knees, on his sides

red on his back _ the old scar on his wrist_

jealousy anger self-pity cowardice

weak terrified

worthless ungrateful

failure

evil

just pure evil

ugly

shattered

ruin

ruined

* * *

><p><strong>The song here is <strong>Perfect **sung by **Hedley**. When I heard that song, I was instantly reminded of Romano.**

** I hope this chapter doesn't sound too unrealistic. I think if someone is in a state of depression, he'll start blaming anyone in his sight. Though it doesn't apply to all people of course.**


	48. Perfect

It was the last day of school before the long holiday. Antonio had decided to go home a little later, and played soccer at the courtyard instead. It would be a long while before he was back there anyway. He took his time changing into his sport shirt. Then he was off to the courtyard.

But something stopped him in the middle of his way. He glanced at the intersection connecting to the emergency stairs. Maybe…

He decided to take a look. If Romano really was there, maybe he could convince him to play soccer with him! Although now that he mentioned it, he remembered that he had never seen him doing sport before. That boy was often absent from PE.

Then he heard it, the soft tune, soft _humming_. And he stopped on the door (_closed_), listening.

"Falling a thousand feet per second, you still take me by surprise. I just know we can't be over, I can see it in your eyes. Making every kind of silence, it takes a lot to realize. It's worse to finish than to start all over and never let it lie."

He had never heard Romano sing before. And it was nothing he'd ever imagined. His voice was a baritone, almost deep, and emotional.

Romano was singing softly, hesitated. Antonio soundlessly scooted closer to the door.

"And as long as I can feel you holding on, I won't fall. Even if you said I was wrong."

And there, he paused for just a flash of second. Antonio could almost hear the hitching of his breath.

"I'm not perfect, but I'll keep trying. 'Cause that's what I said I would do from the start."

His voice slowly started rising in volume, slowly, carefully, _emotionally_. Antonio didn't realize that he was holding his breath.

"I'm not alive if I'm lonely, so please don't leave."

So desperate, so painful, _it hurt so much_.

"Was it something I said, or just my personality?"

He could hear the shaking breath of the boy inside as he paused to inhale, only separated from him by the red door.

"Making every kind of silence, it takes a lot to realize. It's worse to finish than to start all over and never let it lie. And as long as I can feel you holding on,"

He was supposed to feel happy, because that part sounded so full of hope, but Romano's voice held something different. It was hoping, but it couldn't believe. It refused to believe. But he clung to it nonetheless.

"I won't fall, even if you said I was wrong."

And then the volume raised again, but it was different this time. He was singing so painfully and so desperately strong.

"I know that I'm not perfect, but I'll keep trying. 'Cause that's what I said I would do from the start."

Antonio's hand was on the door handle. He wanted to come in, to relieve the emotions in that voice, to tell him that it wasn't true at all, but he was afraid to break the moment, the first and maybe last moment Romano was honest. So he could only settle with gripping the handle tighter.

"I'm not alive if I'm lonely, so please don't leave. Was it something I said, or just my personality?"

Romano's voice was clearly shaking now, but he took a breath, and when he continued, his voice was clear and strong and _why did it make his heart ache so much?_

"When you're caught in a lie, and you've got nothing to hide. When you've got nowhere to run, and you've got nothing inside. It tears right through me, you thought that you knew me, you thought that you knew…"

His voice lowered slowly, and Antonio suddenly felt out of breath.

'_You thought that you knew'_

There it was, the wall. The sentence made itself clear.

"_You thought that you knew me, but you didn't. You don't know me."_

"That's why I want to know," Antonio whispered to the door, leaning his forehead on it. "Why do you so intense in hiding yourself from the world? What is it there to hide?

Why won't you let me in?"

"I'm not perfect, but I'll keep trying. 'Cause that's what I said I would do from the start."

Empty background, blue and purple and black with shades of red, his rejection of friendship, his solitude.

"Tell me why," Antonio whispered. "Why do you think of yourself like that? What is it there to hide? _Why_ do you hide?"

"I'm not alive if I'm lonely, so please don't leave. Was it something I said, or just my personality?"

And just like that, the answer came out clear. Why hadn't he realized it until now?

'_I'm not alive if I'm lonely, so **please don't leave**.'_

Antonio felt his throat hurt with emotions, such painful ones, and Romano's voice rose.

"I'm not perfect, but I'll keep trying. 'Cause that's what I said I would do from the start. I'm not alive if I'm lonely, so please don't leave. Was it something I said, or just my, just myself? Just myself?"

_I won't leave_

_I won't leave_

Plead

despair

realization

pain

self-loathe

loneliness

isolation

_please, please don't think of such things about yourself, when you are so much more, when you are the one who makes me so much more._

"I'm not perfect, but I'll keep trying…"

Finally, his voice lowered and the song reached its end. And Antonio couldn't hold it in much longer. He pushed the door open.

Sitting down on the floor, back against the wall, knees pulled up high onto his chest, arms folded, chin rested on them, and golden eyes staring ahead.

Reflecting the golden orange light of the sunset, _so beautiful so perfect_.

Romano's head jolted up in surprise and their eyes met. Golden ones widened in shock, terrified.

"Romano," Antonio stepped forward slowly. His heart ached from the emotions, the emotions that the voice had inflicted on him, strong and raw, and painful _and so much more_. "Please don't say such horrible things about yourself."

The scowl, the curses, the pout, the blush, the stuttered words, the kicks and punches and headbutts, the inability to be honest, the emotions he put in each paint strokes and in his voice, the gentle expression he so rarely showed, and his smile.

Why could those things be called not perfect?

Why could those things were despised so much _by their owner himself_?

Romano gripped his backpack, his whole body tensed. Tears were on his face, but his cheeks flushed pink from embarrassment. "How…" He croaked, voice shaking. "How long have you been listening?"

Antonio knelt down to face him, his emerald eyes into the golden ones. He unconsciously stretched his hand out to wipe the tears, but Romano jolted back.

And before his mind finished processing, Antonio said it.

"I like you."

Romano's eyes widened more, he looked at him, dumbfounded.

"I've liked you for so long."

_I don't know since when I started feeling like this toward you. _

_Maybe it was when I remembered you_

_maybe it was when I called your name and your eyes lit up a beautiful shade of hazel and golden_

_maybe it was when I realized how your eyes tell your feelings inside without you do, even when you try so hard to deny it_

_maybe it was when you finally smiled_

_maybe it was when I see the real you, trying so hard, wanting to be honest but can't, building walls to protect yourself, when you are someone that so much more_

And then silence fell and stretched between them, Antonio could hear his heart pounding like crazy inside his chest.

"Liar."

Just a single word, yet it was so strong. Antonio blinked, his mind trying to process. "W-what?"

"Liar." Romano wiped his tears with the back of his hand. He stood up, hands balled into fists. Antonio looked up at him, speechless.

"That's the dumbest shit of a lie I've ever heard," The Italian cracked a humorless chuckle, shaky and dry. "Fucking thanks for trying though." He walked over to the door.

Antonio stood up and caught his back, turning him to face him. He recognized this. This was the same tone, the same voice, the same emotions that Romano showed back then when they talked about his painting.

He didn't want to believe.

He refused to believe.

'_You thought that you knew me. You thought that you knew…'_

'_I'm not alive if I'm lonely, so **please don't leave**.'_

"I'm not lying," He said genuinely. "I told you, right? I won't lie. I won't lie to you, Romano."

The smaller boy shoved him away, glaring. His eyes were still wet from the tears. "I don't believe you."

He stormed out of the door.

* * *

><p><strong>Don't kill me please...<strong>


	49. Green

A lie

it must be a lie

lie

lie

lie

"_I like you"_

lie

lie

lie

he hated lies

he was terrified of lies

they hurt, they had no mercy

rebuilt, he needed to rebuilt his barrier

Antonio was lying, he needed to be prepared

forget

needed to forget

emerald

green for Feliciano's leaves

not emerald

it was green

it was green

green

green

green


	50. Throbbing

It was the first day of the new semester

his first day as a second year

he couldn't be more relieved

because the holiday was long

long and painful and insecure and was a hell

he worked three more part time jobs in those days, aside from his previous two

he worked like crazy

he worked like no tomorrow

anything so he could be away from the house

from father

but he couldn't avoid it forever

hell

it was hell

shattered and mended again

shattered and mended again

shattered and mended again

again

again

until the pain was nothing but a dull throb.

But he couldn't be more terrified

because Antonio would be there

his confession back then

"_Liar."_

he would surely hate him by now

he should be relieved

that way, he wouldn't be scared anymore

and Antonio didn't need to be hurt in the end

hurt and disappointed

hurt

hurt

hurt

ruined

he would ruin him

he would disappoint him.

The first day of the new semester, Matthew noticed

and he was clearly worried

because no matter how hard he tried to pull his collar up,

the handprints on his neck were fresh and new and hadn't faded

because they were there just yesterday

and his back hurt like hell, it was an effort to move around without flinching

knife, knife, knife, sharp like the razor back then

graffiti, ugly ones

red red red.

He had tried to fight back once

so long ago, he couldn't remember clearly

but he remembered that it was pointless

pain pain pain

not lessened, only multiplied.

"Are you okay?" Matthew asked in the second day

it was the second day already

meant he had successfully avoided Antonio for one day

but it meant that he had failed to cover from Matthew

blue purple black red

"You look sick," Violet eyes, gentle, caring, genuine concern. "You should go to the infirmary."

"I'm okay," he said

he forgot to take painkiller this morning

white small pills

cold

_you should endure_

_strong people could endure pain_

so he tried to.

His back was in fire, his side ached, his arms and thighs and knees throbbed

but he managed for one day

attending classes

trying to pay attention

assuring Matthew

avoiding Antonio.

The second day in school ended, the bell rang

courtyard art room music room gym were filled

but in emergency stairs he was safe

he had heard that soccer team was practicing today

so there was no way Antonio would find him here.

He made sure the door was closed

and the hallway was empty

before taking off his hoodie

he cursed because his school shirt was stained

red red red blur red on white

it was hot these days and it was hell for his back

burning and throbbing and protesting

he couldn't lean on the wall, but that was okay

at least he got the chance to cool down the throbbing

he didn't want to be home

not now

not forever, he hoped

silently counting on the money he had been saving

wondering if it was enough already to move out

he had three part time jobs now that the school had started

how long would it take to be enough?


	51. Truth

Antonio had been worried.

Since that day, the last day before the long holiday. He couldn't settle down. He tried to enjoy the holiday, but he couldn't. His mind was just too full. Mixed between upset and sad that Romano might not be feeling the same and he had acted so selfishly, worried that he might not be able to be back to his normal relationship with him, and pain everytime he remembered how that boy was thinking so low (so very low) of himself.

He didn't understand how the Italian could be so contradictory. From what he was able to see, Romano didn't want to be alone, but he distanced himself from others. He desperately wanted someone to understand him, but he shoved away the ones that tried.

Antonio thought he had begun to understand the boy.

Now he couldn't say the same.

He couldn't contact Romano during the holiday. He felt stupid because he hadn't remembered to ask for the Italian's number.

So when the school finally started, Antonio was practically flying to school. He searched for that particular junior (not a junior anymore, he reminded himself), he couldn't find him. At lunchtime, Matthew had looked worried, and when Antonio asked the quiet Canadian (now Francis' boyfriend) about him, he told him that indeed, Romano seemed to be avoiding them (Antonio didn't tell him that Romano might be avoiding _him_ in particular), but what worried him more was because he didn't look good.

"He looked like he's in pain," Matthew said, his eyebrows scrunched together and his violet eyes narrowed in concern. Francis squeezed his shoulder lightly and said, "Why don't you ask him, Mathieu? He would surely tell you."

Matthew shook his head. "No, he wouldn't." Three pairs of eyebrows raised.

"Why?" Gilbert exclaimed, lifting one eyebrow. "You're his best friend! Sure he would tell you."

"He wouldn't," Matthew replied, sighing. "We're friends, but he never told me anything about himself. He is too…" He paused, knitting his eyebrows together. "Too distant." He finished, sighing again in defeat.

Too distant, that was the right word and was not at the same time, Antonio decided. There was more than just being distant about Romano.

First day, he couldn't find him. People said that Italians were infamous for their escape ability. He had to believe it by now. Romano had proven that really well. Shoulders slumped down in defeat, Antonio decided he would try again tomorrow.

Then the second day came, and Antonio once again wanted to smack himself because he had forgotten that today the soccer team would be practicing, that meant including him. Lunchtime was out of option, because Romano didn't appear either today.

That was why, when school ended, Antonio decided that it would be okay to arrive a little late at practice. He snuck around the building, still in his school uniform, searching, peeking in every classroom. He even peeked in the faculty office, earning several confused eyes of the teachers.

Eventually, Antonio decided that he really should check that place, the usual place. He didn't put it in his priority-places-to-search list because he thought if Romano was determined to avoid him, then he would surely avoid the one and only place that had the biggest chance of him to be found. When he told his friends that, they looked at him like he had grown a second head.

"You can actually think like that!" Gilbert screamed, eyes widened in pure surprise. Francis was too busy laughing to explain to the confused Antonio. Well, it was kind of sad that his friends thought he couldn't think!

Antonio walked down the hallway and turned on the intersection to the emergency stairs. He hesitated at the door, but eventually placed his hand on the handle and pushed it open.

Just as he had thought, Romano was there, sitting on the floor. The Italian's head snapped at him the instant he opened the door, eyes widened. It was just a mere second, but it felt like so long because Antonio's mind was trying to register what he was seeing.

Romano had taken off his hoodie, revealing thin arms and the white school uniform that was slightly wet from sweat. But it wasn't the point.

There were spots on his arms, bruised so badly they were almost blue. On his neck were slightly red handprints, circling like, like, Antonio didn't dare to think about it. And his back, blur red stained the white shirt.

Oh God…

The reason he was absent in PE very often, the reason he wore hoodie everyday no matter what the weather was, the bluish mark on his hand.

The pieces fell into place.

His body reacted before his mind did, catching Romano's wrist as the Italian frantically got to his feet and made his way to escape. He immediately felt guilty when he saw him flinched, but he didn't let go.

"Let me go, bastard!" Romano screamed, pulling his hand as hard as he could, flinching since his back limited his movement. He swung his backpack and it hit Antonio's shoulder instead of his head, but the Spanish man held on.

"Romano, calm down!" With his other hand, Antonio caught Romano's shoulder to stop him from thrashing around, the stairs was practically right behind him. "It's okay!" In the rush of adrenaline, he pulled the smaller boy into his arms and they both stumbled to the floor.

"Let me go, you-!" The Italian resorted to punching his chest, but Antonio held him firmly, trying to comfort him. His words came out more jumbled than he expected though. "Romano, please, please stop. It's okay, it's okay."

"Then go away!" Romano tried to push him away, but Antonio was stronger than him. "You see these, so go away!"

"Why should I?" Antonio blinked in confusion. "Romano, who did this to you?"

"Why do you care?" Romano wriggled in his hold, but he eventually stopped, retreating to a few weak punches. "Why don't you just go away?" _Why don't you leave?_

"I won't go away," Antonio replied, relieved that the boy in his arms had stopped. It wouldn't do the wounds any good if Romano kept thrashing around like that. "I won't leave you."

It was silent for a moment after that, before a weak reply came from the now still Italian. "Why?"

"Why what?"

"Why don't you leave?"

Antonio smiled a soft smile. "Why would I, Romano?"

"Because you've seen!" He didn't expect Romano to shove him again, stronger this time, and he almost stumbled back but managed to regain his balance in the last moment. "You've seen these, right? Then you'll leave!"

"So what if I've seen?" Antonio caught his wrist again, gentler this time. "Those aren't your fault, Romano! Whoever did that to you, for whatever reason, it's not your fault!" Which reminded him, "Who did this?"

"It is!" Romano glared at him, distressed. "He did this because I'm a failure! Because I ruined his life! And he'll be better off without me because by then he doesn't have to pay for my school, my monthly allowance, my food, my shelter, my _life_, and he doesn't have to shoulder the obligations as my father!"

Antonio could only opened his mouth in shock. "Your _father_ did this to you?"

"Yes!" With the resolute answer, Romano gave one last strong shove, much of his dismay, to no avail. "Because for him, I am a _failure_!" With that, he slumped down, his head was lowered. "And you know what?" A sob slowly wrecked his figure. "He's right. I'm a failure."

Antonio didn't let him finish his sentence. He pulled him into a hug, tight but gentle and careful, and he let the Italian cried.

"That's why you'll leave," Romano managed to say between sobs. "Because this is me. A failure. Just that."

"Romano, please stop." Antonio bit his lower lip, feeling his own heart clenched painfully. "Please stop."

"People leave," Romano chuckled shakily. "_My mother_ left."

"And it's not your fault." The small figure in his embrace was shaking, broken, and Antonio wished with all he had. _Please, please, please oh God, please let him see what I see._ "You are not a failure, Romano."

"Liar…" The statement wasn't as strong as before, but it still held the same tone.

Antonio held him in arms length, looking right into those golden eyes _so beautiful so perfect_ and said, "I'm not lying. You are not a failure, Romano."

The Italian didn't say anything at that, he just glared at him, tears still streaming down his cheeks. He still didn't believe him, Antonio knew. So he brushed the stray dark brown locks from his face gently, and kissed him.

* * *

><p><strong> xXcrazesisXx : it happened just as you expected :D<br>**


	52. Sun

sun,

sun

still here

"You're not a failure, Romano."

_I am_

he hadn't seen

blue

"_I'm sorry,"_

purple

"_I'm sorry,"_

black

"_I'll come back for you,"_

**red red red**

"_I promise."_

**liar**

"_I love you."_

**liar**

"Liar."

sweet

melting

promising

alluring

**lies**

'love'

"_I love you"_

pink

heart-color

pink

sweet

melting

promising

**hidden** lies

red (_red red red_) behind white

_hate_

_I hate it_

_red (like Feliciano's roof)_

_red (around his wrist,_

_sin)_

_red (behind white,_

_sickening_

_lies_

_promises (lies)_

_disgusting (evil filthy jealousy hatred)_

_I hate it)_

but Antonio was the sun

golden

warmth of the dawn

orange

warmth of the sunset

emerald

warmth of the earth

it was green

Feliciano's courtyard

_his_ leaves

emerald

(not) Feliciano's courtyard

(not his) leaves

he didn't belong

to the sun

"I'm not lying. You are not a failure, Romano."

_please_

_no more_

_don't make me_

_believe_

golden orange (emerald)

not pink

_not lies_

_sweet promising alluring_

_lies_

the warmth of the earth

_I don't belong to you_

_blue purple black_

_red_

_I don't belong to you_

_as much as I want to_

_as much as I wish to_

_as much as I pray for it to be true_

_I don't belong to you_

_sun_

_you're golden and orange and emerald_

_you're the sun_

_you're the warmth of the dawn_

_you're the warmth of the sunset_

_you're the warmth of the earth_

_you're emerald and not green in my life (me)_

_i'm blue and purple and black_

_and red (sin)_

_i'm broken dishes and unanswered prayers and unfulfilled promise_

_i'm scars on my wrist_

_i'm lies (and evil disgusting filthy jealousy hatred)_

_i'm not even the green_

_not even the green for your golden_

_not even the earth for the sun_

_I don't belong to you_

but then

it was Antonio's lips

on his

_his_

warmth of the dawn

warmth of the sunset

warmth of the earth

he couldn't return

could no longer

_if the sun_

_is only my dream_

_golden orange green (emerald)_

_i couldn't reach_

_then please let me be awake_

_because it hurt_

_blue_

_hurt so much_

_purple_

_lies_

_black_

_i'm not even the earth_

_red red red_

_not even the earth for the sun_

_reality hurts_

_but dreams hurt more_

_more and red red red_

_melted in white white white_

_sweet alluring promising_

_melting (lies)_

_burning (the sun)_

_i'd rather be burned_

_honesty and burn me_

_sweet (no)_

_alluring (no)_

_promising (**no**)_

'_love'** (lies)**_

_honest and burn me_

_hate and burn me_

_leave and burn me_

_anything but_

_promises ('love'** lies)**_

_please let me be awake now_

"_sun doesn't lie_

_it's there at the dawn_

_it's there at sunset_

_it won't leave no matter what_

_sun doesn't make promises_

_it's hot in the summer but rain still falls_

_it's cold in the winter but it still shines_

_it doesn't promise summer will always be hot_

_it doesn't promise winter will always be cloudy_

_sun doesn't lie_

_sun doesn't make promises_

_he is honest and honesty"_

_if I'm awake_

_and is still not the earth_

_is still blue purple black red_

_instead of green_

_if I'm awake_

_and the warmth of the dawn_

_of the sunset_

_of the earth_

_the sun is still there_

_if I'm awake_

_and everything is real_

_for only a (this) moment_

_before i'm burned_

_before i'm 'loved' (**lied to**)_

_please let me be honest_

"I like you too."


	53. Treatment

"I like you too…"

Antonio almost couldn't believe his ear. Romano's voice was low, he had thought he misheard. "W-What?"

"I like you too, bastard…"

But he didn't have time to rejoice for that because the next moment, Romano's body went slack in his arms. "Romano!"

"Sleepy…" The smaller boy was leaning on his chest, face pale, and even though his eyes were closed, he frowned in pain. "Back hurts like hell…"

"We'll go to the hospital!" Antonio quickly moved and hefted him on his back. "You might get an infection!"

"No hospital," Romano muttered weakly, clutching the fabric of his uniform. His head leaned on Antonio's shoulder. "'m fine."

"You are not fine!" With Romano's heavy breath resonating in his ears, he grew more and more worried within seconds. Antonio swung the door open with his foot. Glancing at their bags and belongings on the floor, Antonio made a mental note to go back and get them later, as soon as possible.

"'m used to it," Romano said, frowning. "Always heal up themselves."

"You never went to the hospital?" They were midway through the school hallway, and it was mostly empty.

"No," Romano shook his head weakly. "Don't want to get into trouble. Just take me to the infirmary."

"You won't," Antonio promised. "Gil's grandfather works in a hospital. I'll take you there. He won't ask questions." Francis had already gone home and he couldn't reach his cellphone with Romano on his back, so Antonio stopped a taxi just outside the school gate.

The driver opened the door for him at the sight of them and he carefully put the boy on his back inside. After quickly got inside and told the driver their destination, the taxi took off. Antonio was glad that the drive to the hospital was fast, and within minutes they were there.

Rushing into the white building, he almost ran face first into a tall man with blond hair and hard blue eyes. "Mr. Beilschmidt!"

"Good day, Antonio." The tall German greeted him, before his eyes fell to Romano. Understanding dawned on his face and he said, "Please follow me." He led them to a room with an empty bed and instructed Antonio to put Romano down there before closing the curtain around them.

Antonio helped unbuttoning Romano's uniform shirt and cringed at the sight before him. Bruises on his side and along his upper arm, and the peeled-off bandages on his back, barely hiding the still fresh wounds. He bit his lip.

Dr. Beilschmidt quickly examined the wounds and ordered a nurse for bandages, disinfectant, and antibiotic. During the treatment, Romano opened his eyes, glaring at Antonio through a painful frown. "I better not get into trouble for this." He growled half-heartedly. Antonio nodded assuredly, smiling a bit when Romano closed his eyes again, but this time willingly, and his figure visibly relaxed.

After the treatment was finished, Dr. Beilschmidt insisted to perform an examination for broken bones before he was finally satisfied and informed them that there was no broken bones and Romano would be able to go home now if he wanted to. Also, he prescribed some antibiotic for him, for the wounds on his back.

"You can rest here for now," He told the Italian on the bed, his tone was calm and comforting. "And don't worry, I won't tell anyone if you don't want me to." He nodded at Antonio's surprised face. "I can conclude what happened."

"Thanks," It was almost undetectable, but they heard it. The tall German managed a small smile to the red-faced Romano before leaving both of them in the room.

Antonio took a chair nearby and sat by the bedside, looking at the Italian worriedly. "Are you okay, Romano? Is it still hurt?"

"Better now," Romano huffed, closing his eyes. Antonio noticed with relief that his breath had evened. "But now I owe the albino bastard thanks to you."

Antonio chuckled softly. Romano had started cursing again meant he had really felt better.

Silence filled the room for a moment, with only the sounds from outside to hear before Romano broke it. "I better go home now."

Antonio blinked, before a worried frown formed on his face. "Are you sure, Romano? I mean…"

"Of course I am," With his elbow as support, Romano hefted himself into a sitting position and reached for his uniform placed on the bedside table. "Father will be home, I know. But it's not like I have a fucking choice."

Antonio didn't like the idea even a bit. Image of Romano going home to his father who might _would_ hit him, strangle him, graze his back with a knife, was enough to send anger down his spine. And before his mind finished processing it, he said, "Don't go home."

Romano looked at him like he was some kind of idiot, in which maybe he was. "The hell?"

"You don't have to go home," Antonio looked at him. He was serious about this. "At least for today."

"Are you out of your mind?" Romano raised a brow, buttoning his uniform. "Then where will I be?"

"My place."

Romano paused midway through the buttoning. "What?"

"You can come to my place. My parents won't mind." He smiled to him assuredly. "I'm serious about this. Just for today, come to my place, Romano. I don't want your father doing this again to you, when your wounds haven't even healed and he was the one who caused them." He felt his expression hardened just at the thought.

Romano stared at him, eyes widened. Antonio reached for his hand and squeezed it gently, assuring him. Slowly, the Italian shook his head, head bowed. "I can't."

"Just for today," Antonio pleaded.

"You don't know him. I'll get into trouble with him if I don't go home tonight." Romano gave him a wistful smirk. "All that stuff about why I come home late and why I can't be like the other kids and just stay at home studying."

"I'll call him." Antonio wasn't about to back down. "Or we'll go to your home first to inform him. I'll say we have to work on a project so you'll be staying over at my house. He'll have to believe if it's more than one person saying it."

Romano opened his mouth to protest, but Antonio silenced him with a finger to his lips. "Just for today," He promised. "And I won't let you get into trouble."

The Italian turned a deep shade of red, but still looked unconvinced. Antonio kept his hold on his hands, waiting. Finally, a low mutter was heard, "Whatever, persistent bastard."

Antonio's face lit up visibly and he had to restrain himself not to pull the Italian into a hug. The corner of Romano's mouth twitched on the sight, and Antonio happily noticed that he was holding back a smile. After finishing buttoning his uniform, he got up from the bed and walked out of the room, Antonio following him behind.

"Where's my fucking backpack?"

Oooppsss.


	54. Family

Nice things never lasted

happy days never did either

things had never gone smoothly

father had said yes

Antonio only needed to talk a bit

then they got a yes

without an eye contact

without a frown

without long dark shadow

but

still

blue purple black red

too easy

too smooth

_afraid_

blue purple black red

when he got home tomorrow maybe

blue purple black

red red red

graffiti

sharp

sharp

ugly

like the razor

like the scar on his wrist

_sin_

_scared_

blue purple black red _empty_

evil

disgusting

filthy

_nothing_

Antonio would realize

and then

regret

disappointment

released the gravity

and he would float

in the darkness

dark

dark

dark

darker

sucked out of _life_

"Romano? You okay?"

But the sun still shone

still held him

_I'm not a star_

_I'm not a star you wish me to be_

_I'm not a star_

_a mass of gas_

_not worthy of your gravity_

"Is it starting to hurt again?"

Antonio would realize

and then

no gravity

no golden red orange

no emerald _only green_

"I'm fine."

"If you're sleepy, you can sleep. I'll wake you when we arrive."

"I'm fine."

"We're here!"

"Who's that, Tonio? Your friend from school?"

"Yep. He's Romano. He's staying over for school project tonight."

"That's wonderful! Come in, dear! Make yourself at home. And you come just in time. Dinner's ready!"

mother

father

son

a dining table

smile

smile

mom

father

son

son _who?_

son _who?_

_son_

_who?_

_who?_

"So, this is my room. Sorry it's a bit messy."

_Antonio you didn't know_

_mother_

_father_

_son_

_dining table_

_dinner_

_smile_

_**home**_

_it's everything_

_it's the world_

_green white red_

_brown cream blue gold_

_it was everything_

_it was the world_

"You can sleep on my bed. I'll have the couch."

"No fucking way. The couch's mine."

"It's my room, so I'm the boss here. Boss wants you to sleep on the bed."

"There's no use arguing, is there?"

"Nope."

sun

sun

so bright

so close

so warm

so beautiful

so kind

a mass of gas didn't deserve it

it couldn't shine

couldn't materialize

could only

depend

on the gravity

sun

sun

warm

beautiful

perfect

_I'm not perfect_

"Don't you want to change your clothes? You can borrow mine. It's a little too big though."

"I'm fine."

"Here! This is the smallest size I have. Come on, Romano. You don't want to wear that bloody shirt to bed."

"I'm fine, bastard. That's why I said I'll sleep on the couch. H-hey! What the fuck are you-!"

"Now, that's good. It suits you!"

"You pervert!"

"Eeehhh?! I'm nooottt~!"

"Whatever."

"Does your back hurt? Is the sheet warm enough? Are the pillows puffy enough?"

"Shut up. I'm fine, _mom_."

_your mom smells like mom_

_your dad smiled like father used to_

_your dining table was warm like my old dining table_

_you smiled_

_emerald, not green_

_you smiled_

_it's not mine (everything)_

_it's yours (everything)_

_mom promised_

_she lied_

_your mom smiled_

_dad used to smile_

_father never smiled_

_your dad was warm_

_I couldn't_

_it's yours._

_But even for only a moment,_

"Good night, Romano. Wake me up if you need anything, okay?"

"Yeah, yeah. Go to sleep, tomato bastard."

_you share it with me_

"It's been a long time since you last called me that!"

"W-why are you so damn happy about that anyway?! Go to sleep!"

_Thanks_

"Okaaayyy~

_Buenas noches, _Romano."

_Hey Antonio,_

_I'm not perfect_

_not a star_

_not the earth_

_just a mass of gas_

_just blue purple black red_

_I'm not perfect_


	55. Anchor

It was a good thing that he insisted Romano sleeping on his bed. As soon as the boy touched the mattress, sleep came into him, apparent on his heavy eyes. Antonio chuckled on the sight.

"Does your back hurt? Is the sheet warm enough? Are the pillows puffy enough?" He approached, moving to organize the pillows, but Romano brushed his hand away.

"Shut up. I'm fine, _mom_."

Antonio couldn't suppress his smile. He pulled the sheet higher onto the boy's figure and turned the bedside lamp on, turning the room's lamp off instead. "Good night, Romano. Wake me up if you need anything, okay?"

"Yeah, yeah. Go to sleep, tomato bastard." He mumbled into the pillow.

"It's been a long time since you last called me that!"

"W-why are you so damn happy about that anyway?! Go to sleep!" Romano's head snapped up at the statement, turning bright red. Antonio laughed heartily, unaffected by the glare leveled at him.

"Okaaayyy~" He sat himself down on the couch, watching as the glare subsided and Romano slumped into the pillows. "_Buenas noches, _Romano."

Antonio didn't fall asleep instantly. He kept sitting instead, watching as Romano's eyes fell closed and his breath evened. After he was sure that the boy was sleeping soundly and comfortably that he slipped under the sheet on his couch as well. But not before he stepped across the room and knelt down beside his bed, hesitating at first, before brushing Romano's hair gently from his face and running a hand through his dark locks, and kissed his forehead.

-o-

He woke up groggily, glancing at the clock hung on the wall. It was four in the morning, and he planned to just sleep back, but when he spotted that his bed was empty, Antonio jerked awake, sleep was gone.

He almost slumped back in relief when he saw Romano by the window. The curtain was open and his eyes were set on the horizon.

At the moment, he seemed like a fleeting being, standing still, hands on the side of his body, Antonio's oversized white shirt hung loosely still on his figure, strands of his dark brown hair fell lightly around his face, and golden eyes were distant, the dark sky outside almost reflected on them.

And Antonio held his breath, was afraid that when he made the tiniest of sound, Romano might just disappear. He knew it was silly, but he couldn't help the thought. The Italian had always been closed up and distant. Everything that happened yesterday, how he cried into his shirt and poured his heart out, seemed like a dream.

Antonio was afraid that it might not be real.

But then Romano turned around. He looked at Antonio blankly for a moment before a light frown, his default expression, took his face. And that chained him back to the earth, proving to Antonio that he was real. Romano was real and he was there in Antonio's room wearing Antonio's shirt.

That meant everything that happened yesterday was real.

Antonio let out the breath he'd been holding and let his whole features relaxed with his smile.

"Why did you wake up, moron?" Romano scolded him lightly. "Did I wake you? Go back to sleep."

Antonio chuckled. "Well, you did wake me up. But I don't want to go back to sleep again. If anything, you're the one who needs sleep much more than me."

"I'm fine," The frown turned into a scowl.

"I didn't say you're not," Antonio walked over to him. "But I think that you need to sleep more."

"I slept well last night, if that's what you want to know," Romano mumbled.

Antonio laughed happily. "I'm happy that you did. That means you have to come more often." He smiled brightly at him and Romano turned red, looking away and stuttering curses under his breath.

Then the first line of sunlight streamed into the room from the window and both of them looked outside, watching as the sun slowly rose. Silence filled the room for a moment, a peaceful one. Antonio glanced to the boy next to him and felt his heart swelled.

Romano's face was soft, almost relaxed. He didn't smile, and instead of it, there was that look again in his eyes. Distant and longing and painful. But it was the first time Antonio had ever seen Romano like that. He seemed so… open. His walls were fragile and he was too, maybe just for this moment before they were rebuilt and he was back to being distant again.

Antonio wrapped his arms around him slowly, and lingered there, waiting. He felt Romano tensed for a moment, before finally, finally relaxed and melted into his touch. A soft smile tugged Antonio's lips and he pulled him closer gently.


	56. Dawn

It was the best sleep he'd ever had since few months ago.

it was warm and soft

his back still throbbed a bit

but it was no big deal

then there was a hand along his hair

warm and soft

_mom?_

and there was someone's lips on his forehead

_mom?_

"_I'm sorry,_

_I'm sorry,_

_I'm sorry._

_I'll come back for you,_

_I promise._

_I love you."_

_**lies**_

When he opened his eyes, he could sleep no more

Antonio was sleeping on the couch

he was wearing his shirt

he had been sleeping on his bed

_if this is a dream_

_please let me be awake soon_

sky

dark blue

still

cold

beautiful

imaginary

_if this is a dream_

_please let me be awake soon_

sky

light blue

Feliciano's sky

distant

untouchable

"_Why can't you be like your brother?"_

**blue** purple black

"_I'll come back for you._

_I promise._

_I love you."_

**red**

sky

silent

unanswered prayers

unfulfilled promise

unreachable

_if this is a dream_

_please let me be awake soon_

_burn me_

_i don't want your 'love'_

_your honesty and burn me_

But then Antonio was on his side

his eyes _warmth of the earth_

_real_

_it hurts_

his smile _warmth of the dawn_

_real_

_it hurts_

his touch _warmth of the sunset_

_**real**_

_it hurts so much._

And then sun rose

golden yellow sky blue

dark _blue_

gone.

Honesty

_it's the least you can do_

_for him_

_not green_

_blue purple black red_

_not earth_

_blue purple black red_

_not even 'love'_

_only something (?)_

_(not) something_

the sun was honest

was honest and is honesty

_that's the least you can do_

_i'm not green_

_i'm not earth_

_but i don't want to 'love'_

"Antonio, listen.

There's something I want to tell you."

"What is it?"

_warmth of the dawn_

_warmth of the sunset_

_warmth of the earth_

"I know this might sound silly and out of the blue,

but please listen

because I'm serious."

_i'd rather be burned_

_than be 'loved'_

The sun was still rising

golden over blue

sky blue over dark blue

_it's the least you can do_

"My father hit me since I was a kid,

because he said I'm a failure.

And he's right."

"Roma-"

"No, don't interrupt, just listen

please."

_don't 'love' me_

_burn (leave, hate, loathe, **be honest**) me_

"When I was a kid, I couldn't do cleaning right.

I broke the dishes, I made bookcases fell, I made the room a mess.

I couldn't draw like my brother did."

_blue and purple_

_spots around his thigh_

_big one on his knee_

_yellow stung his eyes_

_orange looked like freckles_

_red is fine_

_red red red_

_his tomatoes (sin and 'love')_

_orange yellow (much) red_

_(not) fine (me)_

_(not) good (me)_

_(not me)_

_brown green_

_blue purple (his) red_

_not fine_

_me_

_why_

_?_

_?_

"When I grew up, he has to pay for my life and school expenses.

And for what? I'm not even good in art, or in everything.

I'm only a shell of mistakes and failures and lies and everything that is evil."

_jealousy_

_hatred_

_evil_

_disgusting_

_filthy_

_blue purple red_

_(his) blue (his) purple (his) **red**_

_not good_

_not fine_

_me_

"Antonio, I know you might want to say that it's not true,

but it is.

I'm over-sensitive, contradictory, selfish, and I'm not even able to be honest.

So…"

_if this is a dream_

_please let me be awake soon_

"Think again. You…"

_are the sun_

_the warmth of the dawn and the sunset and the earth_

_the gravity that kept me chained to the earth_

_but i'm not the earth_

_i'm not a star_

"I don't deserve you."

_blue purple black_

_red_

_not even 'love'_

_just a mass of gas_

_i can't even_

_be someone that (not) myself_

"What I told you about myself isn't even everything. Because I can't tell you everything.

But you would know just from what I've said.

You can't like me."

_burn me_

_please_

_please_

_don't 'love' me_

"Romano, now it's your turn to listen, okay?"

_please please please_

_no more_

_don't 'love' me_

_i'd rather be burned_

_don't 'love' me_

"If then you think from the depth of your heart that what I'm going to say are lies, then you… can do what you want.

But if you think that I'm not lying, then please… you don't have to believe all of what I say, but even just the tiniest amount of that… is fine."

"… Fine."

"_I'm sorry,_

_I'm sorry,_

_I'm sorry._

_I'll come back for you,_

_I promise._

_I love you."_

"You said you couldn't draw like your brother, you can't do things right. You said you're a failure. But what if I don't think so?

You said bad things about yourself, someone who, you said, selfish, contradictory, over-sensitive, and unable to be honest. Someone who curses and calls people names and kicks and hits and scowls all the time. But you refuse to see that you are also someone who fights and tries hard, someone that sees and listens to Matthew, someone who makes me smile and feel happy."

_i'm not a star_

_i'm not the earth_

_i'm not perfect like you said_

"They are all you, and even though you were right that I still don't know everything about you, I like you, all of you, everything that you are."

_why don't you burn me yet_

_you don't 'love'_

_you don't burn_

_i don't understand_

_please please please_

_if this is a dream_

_let me be awake soon_

"You don't have to be good or nice or perfect for me to like you. I like you just the way you are, Romano. Everything that you are."

"I don't understand…"

_i don't understand_

_father hits me because I'm a failure_

_mom left because I'm a failure_

_Feliciano (left because I'm a **failure**)_

_i'm not your star_

_i'm not your earth_

_but you are still there_

"I'll make you understand, but at least for now,

believe me, Romano."

_i'm not your star or your earth_

_but you're still there_

_held me with the gravity_

_the sun warmth of the dawn and the sunset and the earth_

_is it_

_really_

_okay_

_for me_

_to **hope**_

_**?**_

"….. Bastard."

_the sun is still here_

_but i'm not burned (yet?)_

"I believe you."

Outside, the sun was shining

high in the sky

_warmth of the dawn_

_warmth of the sunset_

_warmth of the earth_

_you're emerald_

_green like my leaves_


	57. Insecure

_I'm not worth it_

the brush stroke wasn't as smooth as usual

it was slightly curly in the middle

and ended in a dull point, not pointy sharp like he expected it to be

_you said that I don't need to be nice_

yellow, where was it?

_don't need to be good_

where was orange again?

_don't need to smile (like Feliciano)_

where was the green? He was sure he put it there

_don't need to be **perfect**_

blue

purple

red

they were all there was

_you like me just the way I am_

_**everything** that I am_

it wouldn't do

they wouldn't do

sunflowers weren't red

sunset wasn't blue

leaves weren't purple

why why why he couldn't find them

yellow and orange and green

because they weren't him

**he **wouldn't do

because in the end

he dyed them all in those colors

dyed the beauty with the ugly

sunflowers bled red

sunset smeared blue over the canvas

leaves dying in the purple

_no_

_no_

_no_

he ruined it all

_you said you like everything that I am_

_but what if _

_these are all I am?_

_blue purple black and red_

why were the strokes wavy not smooth

why were their end points dull not sharp

why why why

he couldn't do this (_he couldn't smile_)

(_he can't paint the world bright_

_bright yellow and orange and green_)

why why why

not smile

not sweet words

not honesty

and then Antonio would realize

that he made a mistake

that _**everything **__that he is_ was nothing

nothing except for bleeding sunflowers and dying sunset and rotten leaves

nothing nothing nothing

and he couldn't do this he couldn't do this he couldn't do this

he wasn't worth it

he couldn't do this he couldn't do this he couldn't do this

no matter how Antonio painted his world

held his hand and talked to him and looked at him and

smile smile smile

to him, that smile that was only to him

and everything was yellow and orange and green

dawn and sunset and earth

and no matter how he felt

warm and butterflies and _he cares he cares he cares he likes me not the smile not the drawings not the perfection because I'm not all that __**and would never be**__ but he said he likes me me me_

safe _he saw it all blue purple black (not red, not yet red) he saw them all but he still smiles still holds me still talks to me_

and

and…

loved

_no no no_

_I don't want to be 'loved'_

_he doesn't_

_he didn't say he loves you_

_you are not 'loved'_

no matter how Antonio made him feel

it all didn't matter

wouldn't matter

because he didn't deserve it

too much water again

the sunflowers bled red into the dying sunset behind

and the rotten leaves cried red red red tears

too much water

he couldn't do this he couldn't do this he couldn't do this

"Romano?"

and the warmth of the dawn, the rich color of the sunset and the smell of the earth

and everything that was new and warm and exciting and _terrifying_

"You finished?"

_Antonio I can't do this I can't do this I can't do this_

"Wow… Romano, this is…"

"Terrible, I know."

"No, I think this is beautiful!"

"Did you hit your head or something?"

_I can't do this I can't do this I can't do this_

"I'm serious! The atmosphere, it's… It reaches out! I mean, I can even feel it! Dark and sorrowful and grief and hopeless and-"

"You can go on and on about this, can't you?"

"Because it's awesome!"

_I don't understand you, Antonio_

_you called this thing beautiful_

_red sunflowers blue sunset purple leaves_

_this thing that doesn't smile_

_doesn't radiate warmth_

_doesn't give happiness_

_and you called it beautiful?_

"Romano, what's wrong?"

_whenever you touch me like this, my face in your palms_

_and I can feel the texture of them, rough and experienced and earth_

_and the warmth and the life_

_you gave me life_

_but_

"Do you have something in your mind?"

_I can't do this I can't do this I can't do this_

_blue purple and red and void black_

_and nothing nothing nothing_

_I'll ruin you_

_I don't want that_

_I can't can't can't do this_

"Nothing. I'm fine."

_and when you look at me like that_

_emerald not green_

_the earth and the sun and the life_

_I can't do this_

"No, you're not."

_my father never look at me like that_

_like the way you are right now,_

_like one of your family member has fallen ill_

_or your friends have gotten into trouble_

_or your little brother fell down and injured his knees_

_I don't know what that is_

_what is it_

_that expression_

_that feeling_

_I don't know_

"There's no need for you, for us, to rush,"

_and you smile smile smile_

_even though your eyes are still clouded with that_

_unnamed emotion_

_I'm not sick_

_I'm not having any trouble you know_

_I didn't fall down and injure my knees_

"I know maybe this is too sudden for you, and you haven't gotten used to it.

But it's okay. Let's take it step by step, slowly,

together.

Alright?"

_I can't do this_

"I don't know what you're talking about."

he couldn't do this

Antonio chuckled, deep and warm

"How about we start by talking about things that bothering us?

It doesn't need to be everything yet

just one thing at a time

so your mind won't be too full of them."

"I can't do this."

he said it

"What is?"

"This. Being with you, being in a relationship."

_because no matter what you said_

_no matter what you are feeling toward me_

_you'll realize_

_I can't live up to your expectation_

_not smile_

_not sweet words_

_not honesty_

_burn me_

_now rather than later_

_before we fall too deep into this_

_this void of black black black_

_this void that is me_

"I…

I just can't do this."

_and it hurts so much_

_because the sun is so high up and so mighty and so warm_

_and a mass of gas can never shine_

_can never shine like the sun so wishes him to_

_it hurts so much_

"I'm not… I'm not good at anything. I'm nothing, Antonio.

You'll regret it, being with me."

it would be better if he paints it all black first

paints the empty canvas black

because by then any color that come won't

will never

be able to live in there

"I don't deserve you. I will never do. Just… Just say that you hate me and leave me now. There's nothing good in me, absolutely nothing. I'll ruin your life in the end."

because if you never expect anything from the start

if you think of the worst possibility from the start

then everything

anything

the world throws at you

won't hurt as much

"Romano, don't cry. Please don't cry."

because if he didn't believe 'love' from the start

didn't wait and didn't hope and didn't pray

and didn't try his best, didn't cook with mom's recipe and didn't draw with Feliciano's color

then it wouldn't hurt

so if this ends now,

Antonio won't be hurt in the end

and he won't too

he won't need to look for yellow and orange and green

not when the sunflowers are already red and sunset is already blue and leaves are already purple

and himself is already black

"You won't ruin anything. I promise that.

I like it when you scowl or pout. It's adorable, how your eyes narrow and you puff out your cheeks." Antonio chuckled, pulling him into his arms.

"I like it when you yell or curse. It is something that is so, very you." He kissed the top of his head.

"I like it when you complain. I don't know why, but it's just… it always makes me smile." He chuckled into his hair.

"I like it when you paint, or draw. How your face is so concentrated, or so relaxed. I'm just happy that you can feel happiness too."

Antonio held him on arms length, and he _smiled smiled smiled_

"And I like it when you smile." He rubbed his face gently with his hands.

"Humans do many bad things. But that doesn't mean that they don't deserve to be loved. That doesn't mean they deserve to be treated horribly." He traced the fading handprints on his neck lightly.

"So, please give yourself a chance, Romano."

And he kissed him, everything, anything that he was

Antonio didn't care

didn't care that he didn't have yellow or orange or green

didn't care that his sunflowers were red _(on his back and his neck __**and his wrist**__)_ and his sunset was blue _(on his thighs and sides) _and his leaves were purple _(on his face and his arms)_

didn't care that he couldn't smile like Feliciano

couldn't say sweet words like his father couldn't

couldn't be honest like the black void that he was

was nothing like the empty dull canvas

"I want you. You, Romano, and no one else.

If you ever think like that again, just come to me

and I'll say that to you again

everytime and always until you believe it."

and Antonio smiled

to him and only to him

and the sunflowers were still red and the sunset was still blue and the leaves were still purple and he was still all of those and nothing

but he had taken the first step

they had taken the first step

"You'll be okay.

We'll be okay."

and he didn't know if he would still do or not

but he believed in it

* * *

><p><strong>So very sorry for the terribly late update m(_ _)m<strong>

****The unnamed feeling that is mentioned here is concern, not love. It hasn't reached that part yet.****

**I'm sure everyone is wondering where this is going, but right now I'll dedicate several chapters for the growing of their relationship before it gets to the climax. So I think this story will reach at least 80 chapters in the end =_=  
><strong>

**Thank you so much for those who read this and take time to review, and special thanks for those who stick with me and this story until now (and to the end? :)). All of your support mean so much to me ;u;**


	58. Text Messages part 1

**beep**

good morning, roma! :D did you sleep well? what's for breakfast?

_you fucker are fucking noisy this early in the morning_

**(send)**

**beep**

glad you sleep well :)) see you at school! kiss and hugs!

_yeah, see you, bastard_

**(send)**

**beep**

roma, booorrrreeeeeddddd~~~! :(((

_go to hell_

**(send)**

**beep**

so mean~ what class are you now?

_chemistry. so fuck off_

**(send)**

**beep**

see you at lunch then! :DD

_yeah, see you_

**(send)**

**beep**

have you arrived home? you should just let me take you home Q3Q

_I'm fine, safe and sound, moron. what's with those ridiculous emoticons anyway?!_

**(send)**

**beep**

but what's the point if I just walk you to the bus stop? Q_Q

_it's not like I'm gonna get kidnapped or what_

**(send)**

**beep**

it's possible you know! O_O

_meh… nobody would want to. he won't shed even one coin for me _

**(backspace)**

_meh… nobody would want to. we're not even rich_

**(send)**

**beep**

I'm not talking about kidnapping for money! O_O

_stop being such a whiny jerk. I'll be fine. stop worrying_

**(send)**

**beep**

roma, I can't not worried Q_Q

_okay okay whatever. you can walk me home tomorrow, but if my father sees us, I'm dead for real, not that I care or what _

**(backspace)**

_okay okay whatever_

**(send)**

**beep**

does that mean I can walk you home tomorrow? :D

_I didn't say no, you jerk. I don't really mind either _

**(backspace)**

_I didn't say no, you jerk_

**(send)**

**beep**

yaaayy~! :D a hug for roma!

_you're not even here, stupid_

**(send)**

**beep**

a virtual hug! :D

btw what are you doing? I'm watching some dramas :D

_there's nothing in this world such as a stupid virtual hug_

_homework. fuck off with your dramas. I hate them _

**(backspace)**

_there's nothing in this world such as a stupid virtual hug_

_homework_

**(send)**

**beep**

Oooohhhh, I see. how's it? is it going well? roma's so mean~

_it's fine, I guess. you don't sound that sad either._

_oh, he's home. drunk again, it's not even friday_

_hope he's not_

_oh fuck _

**(backspace)**

_brb_

**(send)**

**beep**

okay :D

_back. he's fucking upset and yeah I know I ruin everything and all but he didn't need to kick me on the sides and yell at me like that it's fucking loud and my ears hurt and I've already known all that so what's the point of him telling me that all over again? it's just a waste of energy for him and he was the one saying that he doesn't want to waste anything on me but I guess he's just a taking-back-his-own-word jerk like that _

**(backspace)**

_back. sorry, real sleepy_

**(send)**

**beep**

welcome back :D good night, roma. sleep well, okay? kiss and hugs!

_good night, bastard _

**(backspace)**

_good night_

**(send)**

* * *

><p>The next part of their relationship : knowing each other's number and text messaging<p> 


	59. Text Messages part 2

**beep**

hi roma! :D what r u doing?

_so it seems you've learned those goddamn text messaging language. nothing in particular._

**(send)**

**beep**

yup :) then I can chat with you! :D no homework?

_nope. he's not home yet, and nothing to do here so I guess we can. not that I want to chat with you, bastard_

**(backspace)**

_nope. nothing to do here so I guess we can. not that I want to chat with you, bastard_

**(send)**

**beep**

yaaayy! \(^o^)/ then let's chat! did you draw these days? I bet you did :D

_just where the fuck did you learn those motherfucking weird emoticons anyway?! so what if I did?_

**(send)**

**beep**

gil :) I want to see~ oh, are u free after school tmr? bella got eat-all-you-want voucher from a nearby restaurant ^u^

_no wonder. I guess so. which restaurant?_

**(send)**

**beep**

the italian one :DD I knew you want to go. let's all go 2gether tmr!

_I guess it's fine_

**(send)**

**beep**

yaayy! *hug*

_stay away from me, bastard_

**(send)**

_oh shit, I played along with your stupid virtual gestures. you'll pay for that!_

**(send)**

**beep**

it's fun, so why not? :) what about I pay with paella for lunch tmr?

_deal. don't forget, tomato bastard_

**(send)**

**beep**

I won't! :D

oh, and roma, I've been meaning to ask you this.

why do you never text message me first? I'm fine always being the first to start, but you can text me whenever you want to 2, you know

_because it's embarrassing, obviously. and I don't want to cling onto you too much. you'll find me boring or too clingy or annoying that way, and maybe you will soon. I still don't know if we should do this, but you always look so happy, I don't want to see that expression gone. but still, I'm not sure which one is better, seeing you sad only for this once but then you'll be happy in the future, or seeing you happy now and watching your hopes for me crumble when we've gotten too deep to retreat. antonio, are you sure you still want to do this?_

_I'm scared_

**(backspace)**

_because it's embarrassing, obviously_

**(send)**

**beep**

no need to be, roma. we're a couple! :D and it's only natural for couple to be texting 2 each other as often as they can. and if it's you, it'll make me 3 times happier :D

_for some odd reason, I can almost see you pouting with those fucking puppy eyes of yours, bastard. and don't use those stupid texting language if you aren't comfortable with it. sometimes you use 'u' but sometimes you use 'you', and for other words too. you're already stupid, no need to be a tech boy also._

_how does me sending you text message first make you happier? I can never understand you_

**(backspace)**

_for some odd reason, I can almost see you pouting with those fucking puppy eyes of yours, bastard. and don't use those stupid texting language if you aren't comfortable with it. sometimes you use 'u' but sometimes you use 'you', and for other words too. you're already stupid, no need to be a tech boy also._

_shut up. it's still embarrassing_

**(send)**

**beep**

is it that bad? Q_Q

it's noooottttt~ I won't text you tomorrow if you don't do first :)))

_you little evil bastard. yes it is._

_antonio,_

_why me?_

**(backspace)**

_you little evil bastard. yes it is._

**(send)**

**beep**

I'll be waiting then~

_fuck off_

**(send)**

-o-

**beep**

roma roma romaaa~

_I thought you said you won't text me until I text you first_

**(send)**

**beep**

you're so stubborn X( I can't stand 2 days without texting you, while you can! I'm hurt, romaaa

_it's your own damn fault. don't rely on this stupid tiny machine to talk to me. it can't even connect me and my brother._

**(backspace)**

_it's your own damn fault_

**(send)**

**beep**

mean as always~ anyway, what are you doing?

_shut up, fucker. organizing my mp3s_

**(send)**

**beep**

what song do you listen to roma? do you have favorite bands? :D

I love he is we. they're awesome

_various I guess. trading yesterday, greenday, the spill canvas, not much. don't mind westlife either._

**(send)**

**beep**

so you :o try to listen to he is we sometimes. they're cool :D

_I guess. sleepy now._

**(send)**

**beep**

good night roma :D see you tomorrow *kiss*

_yeah. good night_

**(send)**

-o-

**beep**

good morning roma :D how was your sleep?

**beep**

roma? I guess you're too busy to answer. see you at school then! :D

**beep**

roma, matthew said you don't come today. are you okay?

_fine. just slept in. my head hurts like hell and I keep feeling nauseated. I think the damn sickness caught me_

**(backspace)**

_fine. just slept in_

**(send)**

**beep**

are you sure? :((

_of course I am, dumb-_

_of course I am, dumbass_

**(send)**

**beep**

if you say so….. :(

_your fucking sad face. fine, I'm fine. should I give you a smile so you'll believe me? :)_

**(send)**

**beep**

I believe you, roma. I just think that you might not be as fine as you believe yourself to be :(

_then fuck off_

**(send)**

**beep**

I'll drop by your house after school okay?

_don't. just don't. god, I'm fine!_

**(send)**

**beep**

whatever you say, roma~

_antonio, I'm fucking serious about this. DON'T. who knows when he'll be home today_

**(send)**

**beep**

don't worry roma. I'll just drop by to check on you. that's all :)

_I'm not a fucking kid! DON'T._

**(send)**

**beep**

see you later, roma :D

_DON'T, ANTONIO YOU MOTHERFUCKER._

**(send)**

* * *

><p><strong>I don't know any Spanish or Italian artist or band, so I end up using the American and British ones. He Is We is an indie band. One of their albums is filled with sweet and romantic songs. :) I'm sure everyone knows Greenday. The Spill Canvas and Trading Yesterday both have melancholic songs, though TSC is much more than TY.<br>**


	60. Call

**ring**

**ring**

**ring**

**ring**

**ring**

**klik**

"What do you want?"

"Romaaaaa!"

"No need to yell at the damn cellphone, you know."

"Sorry. Are you okay?"

"I'm getting bored to say this to you. I'm fine."

"You don't sound fine to me. Are you sick?"

"No! I've just been sleeping and then you called and disturbed my siesta."

"Really?! I'm sorry!"

"Whatever. You call just to say that? Then I'll hang up now."

"Don't!"

"Is there anything else, dumbass?"

"I just want to tell you something, Romano."

"…What?"

"You can lie to me in the text message, but you can't when we're hearing each other's voices directly like this."

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"I know you do."

"…"

"Roma?"

"Antonio, just leave me alone. I'm fine, really."

"Roma, you know, I don't mind it either when you're lying to me in text messages, as long as it keeps you happy or comfortable. But please, can't we work on this together? Starting to trust each other little by little?"

"I'm not sure about that…"

"If lying makes you feel safe, then it's okay. But how about you start to be honest with me little by little? Starting with small things. In turn, I won't lie to you too, starting with not pretending to play along with your lies."

"Then it makes both of us liars."

Chuckle. "I guess. But we've got a start, so why don't we move forward?"

"I don't know if I can…"

"I know you're not feeling well right now, so I won't press the issue for now."

"You…"

"Sorry, Roma. I'm a very selfish person, aren't I?"

"Who knows…? Will you leave me alone now?"

"I'm in front of your door."


	61. Connection

Antonio might not be the most perceptive person, but having been with Romano for almost a year now and having tried (and was still trying) to see him beneath the mask and understand him, he knew something wasn't quite right when Matthew said that his friend didn't come to school today, tone filled with the barest hint of worry.

Then Romano's reply made his suspicion grow. Never in his 2 years of knowing the boy that he ever heard him overslept. And there was this ugly possibility too that if he indeed did, his (sick, terrible) father would surely do something.

So ignoring the Italian's threat for not coming over to his house, he made his way there and called him when he reached the steps to the front door. It was still 4 in the afternoon and it was Wednesday, too early for Romano's father to go home.

When the front door did creak open, his worry and suspicion were proved right. Romano was still wearing his bed hair, slightly pale, and he hadn't even get changed from his pajamas.

"What did I say about coming to my house, you motherfucker?" His voice was hoarse and low and lacked the venom, though there was still that very very vague hint of worry in his voice. Worry that his father might go home, go home and saw them and _knew_.

Without saying anything, Antonio felt the smaller man's forehead with the back of his palm, frowning slightly. He wasn't really burning up, but was indeed warm above the normal rate. Romano swatted his hand away. "Romano, you're sick."

"You didn't answer my question."

"Why didn't you tell me about this?" Even though he already knew the answer, but Antonio asked nonetheless. Because he wanted to hear it straight from Romano himself.

"What for? I'm fucking fine." The Italian huffed and leaned on the wall, crossing his arms. "I overslept. That's all. And you just have to make a big fucking deal out of it."

"You don't look well." Antonio's forehead creased in worry. "Come on, let's get you back to your room."

"Only if you leave first, bastard." Despite his condition, Romano still managed to glare threateningly at him. "I'll get killed if he goes home and finds us like this."

Antonio opened his mouth to say something, but on the next second Romano paled and tensed, muttering, "fuck, not again…" under his breath. Antonio rushed to his side, closing the front door in the process. The last thing he needed was for Romano's father to indeed go home early and see them. "What is it, Romano? Where does it hurt?"

"Nothing's hurt…" Sliding down to the floor, he closed his eyes, seeming to have resigned on Antonio entering his house. "Just nauseated… Really fucking nauseated."

"Do you want to go to the toilet?" Antonio wiped the single drop of sweat rolling down from the smaller man's forehead with his palm, worry was visible on his eyes. Romano shook his head lightly, groaning.

"It's not that bad. And I don't want to throw up and risking can't stop. It happened when I was small." He opened his eyes and looked at the Spaniard right into his, a rare gesture for his part. His hazel golden eyes were tired from the lack of sleep, but his gaze was firm. "Antonio, I'm fine, really."

"I understand you believe you are," Antonio said softly. "But maybe you're not as fine as you claim."

"For Mother Mary's sake, the last thing I need is you over worrying about me," He was answered with a growl as Romano rose unsteadily to his feet. "Stop being paranoid. It's just a normal cold."

"I will, if you let me take care of you while I'm here," Antonio stood up as well, locking eyes with the Italian for a moment before the latter averted his gaze away, frowning.

"Why should I listen to you, bastard?"

Antonio chuckled. "You don't have a choice."

Romano crossed his arms again and glared at him stubbornly. "I can just kick you out, you know."

"Do you really want to?"

He might need to consider not poking Romano's sensitive side too much for the next time, Antonio thought as he watched the Italian turned bright red and looked like he would kick him on the balls if only he had the strength to do so in his present condition. Although it was endearing to see the smaller man blushing adorably like that, Antonio knew that everything about Romano's emotion, thought, psychology, was something so fragile and delicate that even a tiny poke could send it crumbling. The Italian was very sensitive about himself, he could be considered as too self-aware. And his self-awareness wasn't about good things either, so it need to be treated tenderly and carefully.

"Fine, you motherfucker asshole," Romano scoffed at him, turning on his heel and walked through the hallway, motioning him with a glance to follow him. "You win. Satisfied?"

Still, Antonio couldn't hold the small smile creeping onto his face as he followed Romano into his room. As soon as they entered, Romano climbed onto his bed and curled into a ball, cocking his head slightly to the door. Antonio obediently closed the door behind him before sitting on the bed's side, trying to move the Italian from his position. "Let's get you under the sheet, okay?"

The smaller man groaned lightly but didn't refuse, uncurling himself and pulling the sheet on top of him while moving into a more comfortable position. He scowled at Antonio after his head was positioned on the pillow. "Happy now?"

Antonio chuckled and brushed the brown locks from the Italian's face before kissed him lightly on the forehead. "Good boy," He teased lightly, couldn't hold back another chuckle when the Italian turned red again. "I'll make you something warm, to ease your stomach."

"Don't bother," Romano muttered and rolled to his side. "I haven't done grocery. The refrigerator's as empty as a hole."

Antonio blinked. "Doesn't your father do it? He does eat at home, doesn't he?"

Romano shook his head. "Nope, never. He _always_ eats outside."

"Why?" The question rolled off his tongue before he was able to stop it. Romano was silent for a moment, his expression dangerously blank. But Antonio didn't take his question back, he just waited.

They had to take steps, little by little, together, Romano had agreed. And Antonio believed in him. So he waited.

"He doesn't want to eat with me." It came out emotionless, dull, just like the unusually dull hazel eyes. "After I accidentally cooked a meal tasted too much like mom's, he never wants to eat with me anymore."

With the word _accidentally_, came the unspoken statement _it was my fault_. Antonio's frown deepened and he felt anger started bubbling inside him. That man who called himself Romano's father, the one who hit him, kicked him, grazed his back with a knife, strangled him, did and said horrible horrible things that weren't even true about his son, he didn't have the right to make everything that Romano did was a failure.

Romano wasn't a failure. His father made him believe he was. Then, who was the failure now?

He wanted to say _you didn't do anything wrong_, but the words were caught in his throat, so he only watched silently as Romano closed his eyes again.

"I'm fine. No need to do anything for me."

"Do you want me to go out doing some grocery? It won't be long."

"Don't!" It came out so suddenly and abruptly that Antonio was taken aback for a moment, looking at Romano with slightly widened eyes. The other seemed to be surprised himself, as he had blushed a deep shade of red again and quickly rolled onto his other side, his back facing Antonio. It took Antonio a moment to realize.

_I'm not alive if I'm lonely, so **please don't leave**_

His face softened and he reached out to gently ran his hand through the other's hair. "I'm sorry, Romano. I won't leave. I'll stay here."

They stayed in silence like that for several minutes, until Romano broke it first. "How's Matthew?"

Antonio blinked, not expecting the question at all, but he replied nonetheless. "He's fine. He's just worried." He contemplated for a moment before saying, "He's sad that you won't tell him anything."

Antonio almost regretted saying that, as the mood darkened instantly on the statement. Romano kept silent, fidgeting absently with his sheet. Antonio suppressed a sigh. Matthew was Romano's best friend, and as far as he saw, they were really close. True, they had become slightly distant after Matthew went out with Francis and Romano started hanging out with Bella, Ned, and him, but they were still pretty close even now. Everytime Matthew talked, he knew Romano was always listening. And although Romano never talked about himself, Antonio knew Matthew was always watching him, caring in his own way like Romano did.

But this matter, the two of them had to solve it on their own. He, as close he was to Romano, had no right to interfere.

Deciding to lighten up the mood, Antonio asked with a lighter tone. "Do you like my text messages, Roma?"

"What's that out of the fucking nowhere?" Romano frowned, rolling onto his back to scowl at Antonio. The Spaniard smiled lightly on the sight.

"Just want to know~," He hummed. "I learned many things from Gil about text messaging. Oh, and do you like the expression ones?"

"You mean the emoticons," Romano deadpanned, raising a brow. "Are you serious?"

"They're cute, aren't they?" Antonio chimed excitedly. "They can show you what my face's looking like when I text messaging!"

Very vaguely, a hint of a smile tugged on the Italian's lips, and Antonio felt his heart lightened. "You don't need those silly things to show me your face. Your messages are clear enough, with those exclamation marks and everything."

"Are they?" Antonio laughed, and much to his pleasure, Romano chuckled lightly, obviously trying to hold back his own. Although his face was still flushed lightly from the light fever and his chuckle was strained from fear of irritating his stomach, Antonio loved how Romano's face was relaxed, his eyes softening and his lips quirked upward in his attempt to hold back laughter. It was just too much to resist, and the Spaniard bowed down to kiss him on the lips, feeling the other kissed him back.

They broke apart after several seconds, the hint of laughter was still visible on both faces. Antonio grinned, watching the Italian tried his hardest to twist his face into a scowl again, but with no success.

The light and pleasant atmosphere lingered for a moment around them, and for the second time that day, Antonio said something that broke the spell. "Though I still wish you will text me first."

He said it without any hidden intention, just a casual sentence, but he could feel the Italian's mood dropped ever so slightly. Antonio's smile faltered, looking at the other's sullen face worriedly. "Roma?"

The other had gone back to fidget with the fabric of his sheet. "Romano?" Antonio brushed the bangs obscuring the other's face gently, watching the hazel golden eyes flickered with uneasiness. "Romano, is there something you want to tell me?"

"No, nothing."

"You can tell me anything, you know."

"Nothing, really."

"Romano," Antonio cupped the other's cheek with his hand, trying to gain eye contact, but Romano still refused to look at him, his gaze was still set on the fabric of his sheet like it was the most interesting thing in the world. "It's okay."

Too often had he said it, he was almost afraid that one day the words would lose its meaning. But Antonio tried to make it not to, to make it true, and how much he wanted it to be. So he always said it genuinely. When he said 'it's okay', he meant it.

But he knew that contrary to his effort and his belief, Romano never did believe the words wholly. For the Italian, it was a lie, only words to ease the pain momentarily, only a placebo.

It meant Antonio had to try even harder.

"I won't get mad, I won't judge you." He spelled the words slowly but firmly, his gaze was still on the hazel eyes that refused to look at him. "I said it, didn't I? Let's take it step by step. I won't rush you. You don't have to tell me the whole thing. You don't have to be fully honest with me right now, as long as you're comfortable with it. Let's just… take it one step at a time, alright?"

He remembered that one time at the art room, red sunflowers, blue sunset, purple leaves, all that emanated loneliness and yearning and _I'm not alive if I'm lonely, so __**please**__**don't leave**_**. **He remembered the rare honesty, that one time when Romano risked himself, risked his own heart, and stripped one layer of his insecurities bare in front of him. Antonio understood how that meant so much to the Italian, how it was so difficult, so he didn't push, he didn't force.

He took steps, one at a time.

And he waited.

Silence fell between them, the only sound heard was the clock ticking. Antonio waited, although his heart was beating loudly in anxiety.

"I don't want to be a burden,"

Antonio felt his heart almost skipped a beat on the low voice, the reply that he had thought he wouldn't get. He kept his mouth shut, and he waited for Romano to finish.

"I don't want to be clingy either. If I text you first, then you'll be forced to reply." The last part came out almost inaudibly. "You're that kind of person."

Such a simple reason if anyone else was the one said it, but Antonio understood. For Romano, it was something that mattered. Strong and fragile, brave and a coward he was, Antonio loved him for that. His insecurities, his self-degrading thoughts, his scarred heart, Antonio loved those everything about him.

"_I'm not perfect,"_ Antonio didn't need someone perfect. He needed him and only him.

"Roma, look at me," He said softly, watching with relief as the Italian finally lifted his eyes to look at him. "I meant it when I said everytime you text me, it makes me much happier." He smiled reassuringly. "I didn't lie."

"I don't know about that…" Antonio deflated inwardly as Romano averted his eyes once again, avoiding his gaze. "And I don't know why you like that damn thing so much."

"You mean the cellphone?"

"Yeah, that trash." Romano's face darkened. "I don't know why you and the others like that thing so much. It can't do anything."

"What do you mean?" Antonio was taken aback slightly on the bitter tone and the change of topic. It was unexpected.

"It can't connect everyone," Romano squeezed his sheet harder, it crinkled in his palm. "It can't connect _anyone_. If anything, it only makes people more distant."

"Did something happen?" Antonio's tone was gentle, and once again he had to wait, he had to be careful. It was another layer of the wall, another pain, another insecurity.

The answer came almost immediately, like Romano had actually been waiting to tell someone about it. "It can't connect me and Feliciano."

Antonio remembered the painting from almost a year ago, two kids, one with bright background, Romano's twin brother. Feliciano.

"Is that why you don't like the cellphone?"

"It's not that I don't like it. I _hate_ it."

Antonio was silenced for a moment. For him, the cellphone was a blessing. It gave him the ability to talk to his friends, his family, and the people close to him even though they weren't in the same place. It allowed him to know how they were doing. It allowed him to talk to Romano even when they weren't at school. So he didn't really know what to say about that. He contemplated for a moment, choosing his words carefully.

"Romano, I understand why you hate the cellphone," He said slowly. "But we'll need it. Both you and I will need it." When he received no answer, Antonio took it as a cue to continue.

"Next spring, I'll graduate. And as we both know, I'll go to a college at the neighboring town. We won't live in the same town anymore."

He didn't want to bring that up now, not while they had been laughing and actually having a tiny bit of fun, not when Romano was sick and lonely. But he had to. He had to secure one thing, one physical thing that would allow them to connect even when they weren't living in the same place anymore.

"I can still visit you, of course. But during the times I can't and the times that I'm not here, we'll need it to know how we're doing."

He was met with another silence. Antonio knew how stubborn Romano was, and how it must be difficult for him to accept not only that Antonio would move out next spring, but also that the cellphone would be the one thing that connect them after that. So risking that Romano's father might come home early, Antonio swung his legs onto the bed and laid down. On the next second, he pulled the smaller man into a hug. He met a light resistance at first, but Romano gave in rather quickly. Running his hand through the other's hair, Antonio said, "You don't have to accept it now, Roma. Like I promised, let's take one step at a time."

The low "Bastard…" came muffled from his chest, and Antonio chuckled lightly and almost wistfully, before pressing another kiss on the top of the Italian's head.

* * *

><p><strong>In this chance, I want to thank the people who have reviewed this fic, and who have faithfully read and reviewed until now. I'm truly grateful for what you've done for me and for this fic, and I can't describe my feelings with words only. You reading and reviewing this mean so much to me ;u;<strong>

**And **I also want to say thank you so much for all the anon reviewers. I'm sorry I can't reply to your reviews, but I'm really really happy that you took time to read this fic and even review. Thank you so much. QuQ**  
><strong>


	62. Friends?

Matthew Williams Jones

second year of high school

has a brother by the name Alfred

has a best friend

or so Matthew thought.

Romano had been scary at first sight, always scowling, always seeming to be angry, swore a lot

but he noticed

and he listened

and that was the greatest joy Matthew had ever had in Matthew's school life, or maybe in Matthew's entire life.

Please don't get Matthew wrong. Matthew has a nice family, Matthew's mother was nice and loving, Matthew's father was hardworking and cheerful, Matthew's brother was an idiot but Matthew loved him.

But then, in every life there would be at least one problem, no matter how good or happy it seemed, and for Matthew there was one too.

Matthew was difficult to be noticed, Matthew was difficult to be remembered, Matthew was often (always?) forgotten.

Matthew's friends in elementary school always forgot Matthew's name,

the ones in middle school always forgot to include him in their games or study group,

but no, there was one, in both middle school and high school, well, now there were _ones_, but that one was always special for Matthew.

Because even though Romano ignored him the first time they met, he did not the next time, and times after that. He actually listened to what Matthew said, he always replied.

And Romano remembered Matthew's name. He had only asked once after they had exchanged name, and then he always remembered.

He never said "I'm sorry, who are you?" like other people.

So Matthew was truly happy that for the first time in Matthew's life, Matthew had a friend who truly considered him as one

but Romano never said they were friends

he remembered Matthew, he listened to Matthew, he hung around with Matthew, he talked to Matthew

he never said they were friends

but his actions spoke it, right?

Matthew knew Romano loved art, knew he loved to paint

Matthew knew he has a brother named Feliciano

Matthew knew his parents divorced when he was still a child, leaving him with his father

Matthew knew Romano liked Antonio

it wasn't enough, it wasn't enough that Matthew knew

after all,

Matthew didn't know why Romano always wore hoodie

Matthew didn't know why he spoke of his father with such a dark, bitter tone

Matthew didn't know why he had angry handprints on his neck sometimes

Matthew didn't know why sometimes Romano seemed to be in pain whenever he moved

Matthew didn't know

didn't know if Matthew and Romano were friends.

Matthew wanted so badly for them to be

after all, Romano had noticed, had listened, had remembered, had _cared_

but then, Romano never spoke to Matthew about his problems, about his troubles, about pain he might be holding,

about the angry red handprints on his neck

about the blue bruise that he didn't know Matthew noticed on his chest, just bellow his collarbone where the lack-one-button-on-right-below-the-collar school uniform failed to hide

he never said anything

Matthew didn't pry

Matthew didn't ask too deeply

even though Matthew wanted so badly to

even though Matthew wanted him to tell him what happened, what hurt him, what pained him, _what_ _who why_

but Matthew wanted to be a good friend

wanted to be a good friend like Romano had been to him

so if Romano didn't want to talk about it, then Matthew wouldn't ask, Matthew wouldn't pry

Matthew wanted to be a good friend

Matthew didn't want Romano to leave because he tried to pry

Matthew wanted to be a good friend.

.

.

.

Were they friends?


	63. Question, answer

"So, you use this formula here? To find X… B-but then what's the value for Y?"

It was math. The class was divided into pairs to study for upcoming final exam. Matthew's eyes had locked with Romano's, and Matthew knew that even though he was scowling as he pulled his seat to Matthew's desk, Romano actually wanted to be paired up with him, and Matthew couldn't suppress the happy smile from rising into his face.

They were friends,

"Don't you think we should calculate the fucking Y's value first before we look for the motherfucking X?"

Romano cringed when he shifted on his seat

he had the nasty blue bruise on his face, he fell at the street yesterday, he said.

weren't they?

"Y-yes, now that you said so, let's do that. The formula to calculate Y's value…. Just a moment, I think I have it around here."

"Yeah, let's just do that so we can finish with this fucking functi- ouch, function."

"Are you okay?"

_wrong question_

"Of course I am. Just continue looking for that stupid formula."

"Ah… Okay."

_wrong answer_

"You're not with that wine bastard?"

It was lunchtime, Romano had come over to Matthew, a plastic bag filled with his lunch on his hand.

"Eh, Francis? No, not today. He said he'll be studying with Antonio and Gilbert. Why?"

"The cafeteria's full and I'll look like an idiot eating alone at the rooftop."

Matthew knew the hint, knew the disguised question,

Matthew understood

"Let's eat lunch together then."

And Matthew wished Romano knew how happy he made Matthew, that he still cared, he still remembered, he still hung around Matthew,

even though now he and Antonio were together

together, and sharing and understanding

everything that he didn't do with Matthew

Matthew was happy that Romano still stayed by his side

"You sure take opportunity over this, aren't you? It's not even like I invite you or anything, dumbass."

Matthew was happy that even though Romano's words were still for hiding his true feelings, he no longer made effort to try and hide the faint smile crept into his face

Matthew was happy that they were still friends

"I know, I know." Matthew couldn't suppress a chuckle. "Let's go to the rooftop then."

there were red handprints again at Romano's neck, angry and circling and still fresh

Romano walked carefully, far too carefully and far too disguised, but Matthew saw through it

weren't they?

"Do you need any help?"

_wrong question_

"Why would I, moron?"

"I see."

_wrong answer_

"The weather's nice today."

"No kidding."

"The sky's so blue! Look, Romano, there's not any clouds around even."

"Yeah."

_wrong question, wrong answer_

it shouldn't be what Matthew asked

Matthew didn't know

what, how

to ask

"I'm not eating with you because that tomato bastard isn't around."

Matthew blinked, looked at Romano's turned away face, noticed the slight blush creeping into his cheeks.

It took him a good one minute, to register the words, the tone, to process them, to understand

"_I'm not treating you as a replacement for Antonio."_

"You looked stupid back there, standing by yourself at the hallway. Tch, guess I've grown used to seeing you with that wine bastard. Fuck! It's not a good sign either! I still hate him!"

"_We didn't have the chance to hang around often these days, so I'll spend today with you."_

Matthew understood,

more than that

Matthew saw it

honesty

"Romano,"

Something that couldn't be taken for granted, coming from Romano

he had been honest for Matthew

then if Matthew wouldn't be honest with him

"What?"

wouldn't it make him such a bad friend?

wouldn't it make him not-friend

wouldn't it make them not-friends?

_are we friends?_

"Are we friends?"


	64. Purple

He hadn't expected it, coming from Matthew

"Aren't we friends?"

and he replied without thinking

"Did you hit your head or something?"

"Romano, please answer me. Are we friends?"

did he

did he do something wrong

for Matthew to ask that

he hadn't spent time with Matthew these days

he hadn't talk much with him

they had been drifted apart, just slightly

very very slightly

but then Matthew asked

and he was scared

scared scared scared

distance

there was distance again

him and Feliciano

him and father

and now

him and Matthew?

_no no no please no_

_it's your fault anyway_

_too drowned in Antonio's love_

_indulging too much in his warmth sunset and dawn and earth_

_getting drunk in the bliss of no walls no protection no hidden scars no hidden __**sin**_

_my fault my fault my fault_

"We… aren't friends?"

Matthew sounded so defeated, and even though the question sounded childish to the world,

he couldn't help but to feel there was much more behind it

not just a question a little boy asked to his companion,

out of mere wish for attention

they weren't little boys

they weren't seeking for attention _maybe he was_

"What… do you think?"

_don't hope don't you dare to hope_

and the same words as a year ago chanted inside his head

_don't hope don't you dare to hope_

"T-then, we…"

who would want to be his friend anyway?

he'd been too big-headed

too drowned, indulging too deep

because Antonio had cared and still cared _and would care, he hope_

Matthew had cared

but it didn't mean he still cared, did it?

"Aren't friends?"

_you are_

"I don't know."

"_Why am I stuck with you?"_

"_Go away! You're a nuisance!"_

why would Matthew think differently?

"I-I see…"

he had messed everything up

he messed everything up again this time

maybe he would mess everything up again in the future

he wasn't good enough

wasn't good enough son

wasn't good enough friend

wasn't good enough a person

wasn't as good as Feliciano

"But I really hope we are, though…"

_don't hope don't you dare to hope_

Matthew smiled a little as he spoke. "I really hope we are friends."

Matthew was violet

gentle, all understanding, all caring

violet, not purple _him_

he didn't deserve it

the gentleness, the care,

the friendship

"_Disgusting! Disgusting whore!"_

yes, he didn't deserve it

because

he was blue _purple_ black red

and father had found out

"_Die! Why don't you just die, you whore?!"_

because he had indulged too much, too long, too _deep_

in Antonio's warmth _dawn and sunset and earth_

and had held his hand a bit too long, too tight, too _hoping_

"_I hope you just die! You're a disgrace! Don't ever call me your father anymore!"_

father had obligation, father didn't kick him out

it would smear his face with shame

because he kicked his (son) out

because his (son) (was he?) was gay

because his (son) was a _whore_

blue _purple_ black red

no hope hopeless

violet would only get darker if it got too close to purple

dark and the light would dissolve

the gentleness would disappear

became dark and ugly like purple _him_

"Because I think of you as my friend, Romano."

Matthew was still smiling, soft and wistful and almost sad.

"My precious friend. No one can ever replace you."

_don't 'love' me_

_drown me before I tainted you dark_

_and hollow and nothing nothing nothing only purple ugly disgusting lifeless_

_push me away drown me reject me don't 'love' me_

_you __**are **__my friend_

"We _are _friends."

and he had degraded himself

so low, tainting the violet dark

dragging his _only_ friend down with him _purple disgusting ugly __**whore**_

why didn't he just die like his father said?

"W-we are friends?"

_you are_

"We _are_ friends, you idiot asshole…"

_why don't you just go die?_

_you tainted the violet_

_you clouded the sun_

_void of black, a mass of gas_

_blue purple red black_

_blue shameful sin nothingness_

_disgrace_

But Matthew smiled, warm and utterly, truly happy. "T-thank you…"

"What are you thanking me for, dumbass?"

"S-sorry, I'm just so happy," Matthew chuckled, soft and joyful. "I was really afraid that I'm the only one who thinks we are friends."

"You silly idiotic moron. Why do you think I hang around you for five years now?"

nothing but a disgrace he was

because he was purple but he clung desperately to violet

tainting it all dark and ugly _disgusting_ like him

"B-but, you never tell me anything, so…"

"What's there to tell, you dumbhead?"

"Many things," Matthew's face slowly turned serious

he didn't want to notice concern in it

"You never tell me where you got those bruises from."

was that why Matthew asked?

was that why he looked sad and uneasy everytime he shifted, everytime he adjusted his collar, everytime a bandage was placed on his face?

_you're such a failure_

he had failed to hide it

he hadn't been able to hide anything

maybe from the start

_don't 'love' me_

_drown me hate me push me away curse me_

"What bruises?"

"You can't lie to me, Romano. The ones around your neck, on your face sometimes, on your chest just below your collarbone. I'm sure there are many more, hidden by your uniform and your hoodie."

he couldn't lie anymore

who knew Matthew could crack the wall of his lies this fast?

_you had it coming_

_you are __**friends**__ with him_

_you have been for two years_

_you're such a failure_

"I don't want to talk about it."

"Romano,"

"I said I don't want to talk about it. Drop it, Matthew."

_you're such a failure_

_failure_

_disgusting_

_filthy_

_evil_

_**whore**_

maybe he had to sacrifice one of them

his friendship

or himself

what was there in himself to sacrifice?

blue

purple

red

black

disgrace

sin

**nothing**

would he have to sacrifice his friendship

but for what?

if he was nothing

then for what?

for his _evil disgusting filthy whore disgrace sin _everything that he was that was nothing

"Alright," Matthew had smiled again, softer and more faintly, but it was there. "It's alright if you can't tell me now."

_sorry_

_I'm sorry_

"I'm happy that we're friends, and for me that's enough."

_don't 'love' me_

_I'm sorry_

_I'm sorry_

_don't 'love' me_

_drown me hate me push me away curse me loathe me_

"I hope one day you'll tell me though."

_I'm sorry_

_I'm sorry_

_I'm sorry_

"So I'll wait."

_I'm sorry_


	65. Blue

He had never thought he would be left alone

again

no, it wasn't permanent

he told himself for times

and Antonio told him for times as well.

And it wasn't like either of them could help it either

human was born into this world

they learned

they entered something called school

they learned

and they would eventually graduate

and they should be happy.

Yes, he should be happy, because Antonio was smiling

smiling and laughing with all the other graduates

with his friends

and he wondered when blue did become such a beautiful color

beautiful and sad and painful

but beautiful nonetheless

like the sky stretching out wide above them

though he wondered why the blue in his eyes didn't seem so much like the sky.

"Romano!"

And Antonio was all laughter and smiles with those that saved for him and only him

and he felt himself smiling back

because blue was such a beautiful color.

He remembered the nights and the shouts and the hate in father's eyes and the tears jabbing his eyes like needles

he remembered the colors he was when he looked in the mirror as a child _a child that his father didn't look at didn't want didn't ****_

_that was strange, he didn't couldn't remember what the empty space was supposed to be_

But he also remembered Matthew's question and Bella's green eyes and Ned's square shoulders

and Antonio's smile and his warmth of the dawn of the sunset of the earth of something he still didn't know what.

He tried to imagine the coming days with Matthew's genuine care and without Bella's sweet laughter without Antonio's smiles

he tried to imagine the color of the world when the green _the life_ was no more by his side and the gentle violet was kept in the distance because all he'd ever wanted was anything but to stain it with his ugly purple

and he felt like he saw his mother again, out of the door out of his life out with Feliciano

blue was such a beautiful and lonely color, wasn't it?

"Congratulations, bastard. You've finally gotten out of this hell of a life and will live your own life from now on."

"School was fun too. It was the best three years in my life. Wait a minute, you actually said congratulations!"

"Now congratulations for realizing it. You've just won the first place in the-most-idiotic-people-in-the-world competition."

"Thank you! Thank you!"

When Antonio hugged him, he had held on longer than he had wanted

he didn't want to admit that his throat burned in a way different than the one when father put his hands around it

Antonio said he would be visiting whenever he could

he had told him that no, stupid, I'll be fine and you need to concentrate on your study

he couldn't be honest and he wasn't honest

couldn't because Antonio could no longer live in his house with his energetic mother and his smiling father

couldn't because _he_ was the one who caused all that, because he had taken Antonio's hands and believed in him and basked in the warmth that was life

so he scowled and he cursed and he smiled all that he was supposed to do

that was all he was supposed to do

be himself and not to be himself

anything as long as he could lighten Antonio's burden even if only for a little.

Because by now green didn't like so different from blue and he knew why

it was because of _him_

because he was blue and he was alone

and Antonio was green and Antonio was the most beautiful color he'd ever seen in his life

that was why the blue looked so beautiful and so alone now.

"Congratulations for your graduation, you bastard."


	66. Blind

His face was wet, water dripping down his cheeks like tears and hanging on his chin before disconnecting to the floor below

and there was a shattered glass on the floor

he had thought once what if he grew up to be a man like father

working himself to the bone everyday

only to come home angry and hateful and full of resentment of something that he could never have, someone that he could never have,

a son that he could never have

and then screaming and gulping down alcohol and screaming again and throwing things

he wondered if he went through it everyday,

would he become someone like father?

There was a crash and alcohol shards scattered on the floor

and he couldn't leave because father said so because father didn't want didn't _like _to see him leave

father had been upset

father had been depressed

father had been frustrated

now father was all of them and drunk and stuffed his body full with alcohol

and all he could think of was the dirty dishes at the restaurant and the packs of dogs asking to be walked and customers demanding to be served and homework stacked up high and final exam in another year

father punched his face and _"Why are you looking like that?!" _ all over again and he was on the floor

but with every kick to his sides and every _why worthless ungrateful whore die_

all he could think of was an apartment of his own and sunlight in the morning and fading bruises and dreamless nights

all he could think of was Matthew's sincere comfort

all he could think of was Antonio's smile and how the blue was beautiful and alone and how emerald was green and was life

all he could think of was how he wanted to close his eyes and just sleep despite the dreams of closed door despite the loneliness despite the throbbing bruises despite his aching heart

but he couldn't

so unfortunate he was, he couldn't

because father didn't see and refused to see

because he was no longer father's son

because he could see the hate in father's eyes and the fury in each kick in each punch in each words

he was no longer father's son

his left side throbbed in blinding pain there was blood in his mouth his cheek throbbed in the cold air

but father didn't stop wouldn't stop refuse to stop

because he was no longer his son

he tried to get up but father kicked his side again and hurled the bottle in his hand to the floor

just mere inches to his face

and with every cut with every dribble of blood with every red and sin

he saw father, all red with fury and sin all grey with hate

he saw father who refused to see him to be his father

he saw father who refused to just _stop_

_please_

he got an ungrateful because he tried to get up

he got a worthless because he stumbled when he did get up

he got an ugly because blood dripped from the cuts to the floor

he got a whore because his bruises were visible when father yanked his shirt

all he wanted to think of was how Antonio smiled how Antonio told him he didn't need to be perfect how Antonio held him

but he couldn't because father was painting him blue and purple and red and black and his vision was blurred,

he couldn't see any green

and he was no longer father's son.

.

.

.

He thought it was morning already because everything had stopped

father wasn't there and every inch of him was throbbing

shattered glass and bottles' shards and toppled chair and the dripping blood from the cuts on his face

all of them said

_**real**_

**and he couldn't escape**

yes, he couldn't escape

even when he pressed his injured cheek to the only thing that kept him chained to this world

his cellphone

he couldn't escape

he didn't want to ask why

he didn't want to admit that he refused.

It wasn't morning, he realized

he wasn't on his bed, he realized too

he hadn't pressed the call button, he was aware

he was no longer father's son,

he knew.


	67. Dreamless

He had hoped that he would sleep dreamless

in the cold darkness of his room, silence around him

he stained the pillow red with the cuts, he felt purple bruise forming on his sides, he tasted the steely blood in his mouth

but even then his sleep wasn't dreamless.

He dreamed of long dark tunnel and the wet sticky liquid clinging to his ankles

he dreamed of spiraling building and faceless people

he dreamed of his 'friends' and how he couldn't find them

he dreamed of how lost he was

then the scene around him shifted but he was still lost

he was looking at a door and the door was closed

he wanted to reach out but his body couldn't move

his throat burned of muffled cries but then there was white

merciless white and someone was screaming

screaming hot and deafening and jabbing his ears like accusing needles

he thought he hadn't slept that long.

But then it wasn't morning and his room was still dark and the blood on his face hadn't dried yet

it was his cellphone that screamed

he didn't want to answer because it might be someone he knew and knew him and would be worried

but his hand reached out and despite his trembling palm despite his sprained wrist despite his sore fingers he took the screaming little thing and put it on his ear.

"Hi, Roma!"

And then there was a burst of green and the smell of the earth

the color of dawn and of sunset and of life seemed to almost blind him,

pooling in his chest despite his aching heart.

"Hei."

"I'm here now. I thought I'll let you know!"

He wished and didn't wish that Antonio knew how he clutched on the little thing

so desperately like it was a lifeline

and cries building inside his throat and he tried to speak but the muscles around his mouth felt thick and refused to move

"Good."

"How are you? Is everything okay?"

He wanted to say _no, everything's not okay I'm no longer my father's son and it hurts so much and and and…_

"Yeah, fine."

_I'm lonely_

"Do you realize that I can hear you breathing from here? Are you really okay?"

He was inside water, blue and alone and beautiful but it wasn't his blue because yes, he was alone,

but

it wasn't anyone's fault, it was his fault

because he allowed his mind, himself, to think that he was alone

his own feelings imprisoned him and that was not anyone's fault

it was **his **fault

it wasn't his blue because his blue wasn't beautiful

it was so alone and so twisted that it was ugly

blue bruises that were ugly.

"Romano, tell me."

"No."

No?

He didn't want to tell

or

he wasn't okay?

Which one?

_Which one?_

"Romano-"

"Everything's okay."

**He didn't want to tell**

"You're such a liar, Roma."

It was okay if Antonio was upset

it was okay if Antonio was disappointed in him

it was okay if Antonio thought bad of him

it was okay if Antonio knew his words were all lies

because he didn't want to ruin everything

Antonio's smile, his happiness, his warmth, his new life

he didn't want to ruin any of them

so it was okay.

_no it wasn't okay_

"I want to see you."

Just those simple words

but then Antonio said it, those words that he wasn't able to say

and everything inside him threatened to spill out

in a fast and merciless stream like a storm

all blue in loneliness and purple in grief and red in sin.

"Roma?"

He didn't answer _wasn't able to answer because he was choking on his breath and his eyes were hot and his chest was heavy_

but Antonio continued nonetheless

"Sorry, I was too rushed, wasn't I?"

_no, you weren't_

_it was me who is a liar_

_**it was me**_

"Is your back okay?"

"Yeah…"

"How about your sides?"

"Nothing's broken."

"Your hands? Your face?"

He fell onto his pillow again, and his cuts brushed rather harshly against it, but they didn't hurt as much now

"What did he say?"

The cellphone was still on his ear, and he listened

listened to the only person in this world who didn't scream hatred at him

who didn't wish for someone he wasn't

who called him just to hear his voice and talk to him.

"Roma?"

"Thanks, Antonio."

and then he was in the dark tunnel again, but he wasn't so sure

because darkness around him was cool and comforting

it lulled him gently into the deep slumber that he hadn't had in days.

"_Are you asleep?_

_Well, I think so._

_I'll call you again tomorrow, okay?_

_We'll talk about it when you're ready._

_Good night, Romano."_


	68. White

-violet-

That day, he cornered Romano right before the first class started

and for once, Matthew didn't care if they would be late to class

Matthew didn't even care if they had to skip class

Matthew realized he might looked like a vulture cornering his prey in Romano's eyes, but he didn't care either.

Matthew saw, Matthew had seen, all these times

and he had chosen to stay silent, to nod, to smile, to _believe_

or at least trying to believe

because Matthew didn't want to trouble his friend

didn't want to darken those eyes, didn't want to make him tell more lies, didn't want to weigh his friend's heart more

because Matthew knew how it felt, to hide your true feelings, to keep smiling, to keep saying that it was okay

Matthew knew how it felt to be afraid.

Maybe Romano's fear was different from Matthew's,

Matthew had always been scared, that no one would notice him other than his family

scared that he would stay invisible for the rest of his life, to stay silent and to keep lying to himself

scared that he would keep saying it was okay again and again even when everything showed that it was not.

And Matthew knew how it felt to be silent, to just keep it all inside.

Matthew knew it was defensive, knew it was somehow a way to keep himself strong, knew it was caused by fear.

But then, that didn't mean they, both him and Romano, should keep silent all the time.

They needed to talk, to say it out loud, to spill everything that had been crushing every inch of their fearful heart

maybe they could still stay silent sometimes, Matthew accepting and Romano hiding

maybe they could still stay silent when Romano came to school in the morning with bags under his eyes, when he slept during class

maybe they could still stay silent when he grimaced everytime he made a wrong move

maybe they could still stay silent when they could spend time together just like that, comforting each other in their own way

but they couldn't keep silent anymore if Romano came to school with band-aids all over his face and red bruises around his neck and looking like he wanted to cry

no, they couldn't keep silent anymore.

"What happened?"

"Nothing."

"Tell me."

"Nothing happened."

"You're lying."

"Whatever."

"Tell me."

"Just let me go, dammit…"

"Please."

-blue purple red-

He didn't know why, but it seemed like he had become much weaker now

since only a single word seemed to be able to shatter his barrier into pieces

"Please."

to shatter _him_ into pieces

"_Die!"_

And it was strange because now there was no color around him

no blue, no purple, no red, no black

no green, no silver, no violet

nothing

only white

""

colorless, wordless, merciless

merciless

_tell him? no_

_I don't want to please I don't want to_

_say it say it say it that it hurts it's painful it's tearing you inside_

_leave me alone_

_no no no I won't not until you say it let it all out_

_let all those __white merciless __pain out_

_gripping you inside, blinding you, choking you, __**killing**__ you_

_all, all, all_

_**all**_

_just leave me alone, please please please please_

_no, because there's no blue, no purple, no black, no red_

_green and violet, no_

_only __white_

Even when he clutched his ears, they wouldn't stop

white stabbing his eyes, his ears, his lungs, his heart

merciless

_let it all out_

-violet-

Matthew didn't know what had possessed him that moment, but seeing his friend like that, covering his ears and sliding to the floor, hiding his face,

Matthew did something that he knew would help, even if just a little

he leaned forward and wrapped his arms around him

it was awkward, they both were awkward,

but like that, he could hear Romano's breath, his thumping heart

he could feel how light his friend was, how thin and how **alone**.

Matthew didn't apologize, he didn't say anything

he simply waited

and believed

-white-

My father hates me

I didn't know why, _didn't not don't_

He used to yell at me, saying why I am not like my brother, why I looked at him the way I did, why I couldn't smile

he still does it now, so _used to_ isn't really the right word

I used to try to win him over, to make him at least smile to me

but after five years, I knew it was all futile

I'm not my brother, I'm not someone he would like to have as a son

I don't know why he's stuck with me

I didn't know why my mother left with my brother, but without me

I didn't know why father still pays for my life

I didn't know why I'm still here

I don't know why I'm still there, in the house, in the same place as him

I don't know why I can't smile like my brother

But I do know why father yells at me, looks at me with those eyes

I do know why he's depressed, why he starts drinking, why he blames everything on me

I do know why he kicks me, why he punches me, why he breaks my bones, why he paints on my back like it's a canvas for him,

I do know why he says I ruin everything

I do know why he wants me to die so much

Because back then, after my mother left, after my brother left,

I was nothing and I am nothing

He didn't want me, he wanted my brother, but my mother beat him to it

And now, I'm not his son

Maybe I wasn't his son to begin with

Who would want someone who's not his son sitting in his house, breathing the same air as him,

Who would want to pay for the life expenses of someone who is not his son?

But then, he has to, because laws say so

because the world says so

because if he doesn't, then he'll get more shame, worse reputation, be a bad person

I'm not his son, but he's still working to pay my life expenses

then who has the right to say that he doesn't have the right to treat me the way he pleases?

I'm not his son, but he's working for my life

for me to go to school, for me to get new clothes, for me to get good things, for me to get food everyday

so who says he can't yell at me, kick me, punch me, beat me to the ground, taking out all his feelings that he can't show in public on me?

He didn't get what he wanted, he didn't get my brother

so why should I get what I wanted, why should I get a father?

_let him be blinded, let his ears be covered, let him be consumed by white_

_let him be true_

* * *

><p><strong>I'm so very sorry for this late update. College's been busy like crazy, and this chapter just couldn't come out good in my head. I'm so sorry that this update is so short too. Hopefully I can update the next one soon.<strong>

**For all the wonderful people out there who has reviewed and read, and are still doing it, THANK YOU SO MUCH AND I LOVE YOU ALL!**


	69. Black

"Black is such an amazing color, isn't it?"

Feliciano turned from the painting he was working on to smile at the German. Ludwig raised a brow at the sudden words, his ice blue eyes shifted to the canvas covered in black.

"I'm afraid I don't understand, Feliciano."

"Well, many people dislike black, just because black represents death and the likes," Feliciano turned his attention back to the painting, covered in black but there was something more in it, about it. "But I think black is an amazing color."

"And why is that?" Feliciano knew Ludwig couldn't care less about that, but out of politeness, he asked, and that was why Feliciano liked him.

"If a color is used with a just right value, it would create a very good composition with black," He waved his hand lightly over the painting, blue and pink and yellow lines ran on it, the silhouette of red and green could be made out among them.

"Black fits with almost every color. It represents death, but it also represents elegance."

He lowered his hand and took the time to examine the painting, boring his light golden eyes through it, and remembering.

Remembering of the past too blurry, too hazy to remember. Remembering someone whose face he could no longer remember, whose voice he could no longer hear in his ears.

But then, he still remembered.

It was all black, but he did remember

even though all he could remember were colors

green white and red

blue and purple

brown cream and gold

they all stood out in black.

"Black represents hole, emptiness, lost, but then, there's more to it."

"What is your point, Feliciano?"

He gave Ludwig a light smile across his shoulder, then dipped his fingers into the white paint and ran them delicately on the painting.

"White is the color that stands out the most in black. And white represents purity, hope, light, honesty."

Yes, he still had hope

even when he had been lost and he was lost

even when his brother might be lost too

he still had hope

and he hoped that wherever he was, his brother would still have white with him too

white and green and red

blue and purple

brown cream and gold.

"That means, even when you're lost, when it's hopeless, hope and light would still come. They can still stand on their own among the mass of black."

He heard Ludwig shifted slightly behind him, but he didn't avert his gaze from the dots and lines of white.

"That means, even when you're nowhere, but then honesty would shape who you are. It will help you retain yourself."

Nowhere, that was the right word

right now he was nowhere, and his brother might be nowhere

but his honest memories would shape a way for him

"That means, even in nothingness, truth will come out. It will take shape in the emptiness and turns into a space of its own."

He turned around to face Ludwig's utterly confused face. He smiled lightly and gave the German a pat on the shoulder. "Even if you don't understand, it's okay, Ludwig. Maybe you will someday."

_even when you think you're nothing and you're empty, but your honesty and the truth it gives light to will shape who you are, so you will never lose yourself._

* * *

><p><strong>This chapter might seem really random, but I have the urge to write this, to at least give explanation to some of the colors, of how they have different meanings in each person's mind.<br>**


	70. Red

He stared at the mirror

it stared back at him

his reflection stared back at him

black circles under his eyes, lack of sleep, homework homework homework part-time part-time part-time

angry red handprints on his neck, squeeze squeeze squeeze until his lungs burned and he choked but no no no he _didn't_ die

blue bruises on his side, cracked skin and kick kick kick until he screamed screamed screamed but he did not _not not_

purple ones on his stomach and swollen skin and anger anger anger punch punch punch until he cried cried cried but he did not _not not_

the reflection wasn't being subtle

painting the mirror blue purple and black black black

"_Why don't you just die?!_

_Useless, ungrateful, worthless"_

and it was like that day again

he had been thirteen and the mirror had been the same

he had been shorter but he could reach that

silver

like Gilbert's hair

like father's brush he used to carve graffiti

and _red red red_

the sinful scar

on his wrist, pinkish white

sin sin sin

it was a sin

it is a sin

he was a sin

"_You're sick!_

_There's always been something wrong with you!"_

yes, there had always been

he couldn't smile like Feliciano

it was wrong

he hadn't been able to clean he had knocked the bookshelf down he had broke the dishes

it was wrong

he couldn't paint too much water too less water

it was wrong

his sunflowers were red his sunset was blue his leaves were purple

it was wrong

he was envious to his first true friend because that first and true friend had been remembered, smiled to, happy

it was so very wrong

_I'm not alive if I'm lonely so please __**don't leave**_

it was so very wrong

he had once run the razor _silver glinting a jerk and a friend_ through his wrist and painted himself red red red because he didn't have yellow or orange or light blue

because he wasn't Feliciano

it was entirely **wrong**

they were everything that he was

**he was wrong from the start**

"_Disgusting!"_

**he was wrong from the start**

**there was nothing right in him**

"_Why why why?!_

_Don't look at me!_

_Go away!_

_Just go__** die**__!"_

**nothing right**

and there it was in his hand

a jerk and a friend

sin sin sin

slid it out

put it on his wrist

red red red

his sunflowers were red

but wait

now they were not the only ones

red

his sunflowers were red

tomatoes were red

the emergency stairs were red

and no no no

he had promised

step by step slowly

not needing to rush

take his time

not entirely honesty, but not entirely lies

distance

Antonio wasn't here

he wasn't here

he wasn't in the school anymore

distance

but he was still there

"_Call me anytime you want,"_

still there

"_And keep texting with me, okay?"_

a bus drive away

still there

the razor blinked back at him

like a mirror, not subtle

red red red

_you can't call him for something so petty_

_so small_

_so unimportant_

_**like you**_

red it was near purple

purple was like violet

Matthew

soft smile understanding never judging caring

even when he knew

"_I'm not Antonio, but… I want you to know that you can depend on me."_

not Antonio, yes, not Antonio

"_You can talk to me when you want to. And when you need to. You can ask for my help anytime. If you want me to do something, just say it. Though I can't keep pretending that I don't see. I've seen, you've told me, and I'm really, really thankful. So, please,"_

he was not worth the title of friend

if any word could describe him

it would be _worthless_

if any other word could describe him

it would be _nothing_

he didn't want to be 'loved'

_don't 'love' me_

_even you Matthew_

_don't 'love' me_

_when you-_

_painful it would be painful_

_(I'm not alive if I'm lonely, so __**please don't leave**__)_

"_Please remember that I'll be here."_

maybe Matthew would be sad

maybe he would cry

no

he got Francis

someone who smiled to him who cared about him

_and you got Antonio_

his cellphone was in his back pocket

_reach reach reach_

_leave the razor_

_a jerk a friend_

_sin_

"Romano?"

and oh God how he missed it

so very much it was suffocating

and it was strange how his chest was released

"Are you crying?"

"I want to see you."

why why why did he say that?

no no no he couldn't

take it back take it back take it back

Antonio was busy

clingy and obsessive and boring and angsty and worth nothing

Antonio was busy

not having time for him

"Has something happened?"

"Nothing."

_take it back!_

"I want to see you too, Roma."

he didn't want to be 'loved'

it'd been one year

since Antonio smiled to him and only to him

and said he liked him and held his hand and took steps with him

but still

he didn't want to be 'loved'

_I'm scared_

_don't leave me_

_I won't being clingy again_

_don't leave me_

_don't 'love' me_

_burn me before it was too late_

"I want to see you too," it was almost like Antonio could actually hear his thoughts, saying it one more time

_don't 'love' me_

_burn me_

_say I'm clingy say I'm annoying say I'm boring say I'm ungrateful say I'm shameless_

_leave me burn me_

_anything but 'love'_

"I don't have any assignment either today, so…" His voice was warm and light and everything everything everything that breathed life into blue purple and black

"Can you come here?"

Father would kill him for real if he found out

kick him and punch him and strangle him and shove him onto the table and stab him and make him bleed bleed bleed and crack his skull open and slash his wrist raw

and kill him die die die and bleed bleed bleed

ugly red on the floor

but he didn't care

didn't care

it didn't matter now

"Of course. But are you sure?"

"Yeah."

"Okay then. See you in about an hour. Stay safe, okay?"

"I know."

-o-

In the blinding light of the bathroom, white tile and pristine closet bowl and shadowed bathtub, he showed him

a jerk and a friend

and his sin

Antonio's hand was ghostly light but warm

gentle as he ran his thumb over his sin

ugly scars

two vertically one horizontally three diagonally one zigzag

and he remembered red red red

and the light-headedness

and relief _I'm wearing red like Feliciano too bad father doesn't like red_

and he was well aware of everything

_he's seen you've showed him_

_he'll shove you away call you disgusting call you a coward looking at you like a sinner you are and leave leave leave_

_burn you until nothing but ashes left_

_it's okay i don't want to hide it anymore_

_he has the right to see the person i am_

_coward and sinner and worthless and nothing nothing nothing_

_he has the right to know before he gets hurt in the end_

He didn't expect Antonio to kiss him

right there and then

soft and warm and gentle as always

and when Antonio pulled away he was pulled into his arms

strong and comforting and protecting

his smell, one of the earth one of the dawn one of the sunset

one of the life

"Thank you,"

He didn't expect Antonio to say that either

not _I'm sorry _not _why did you do this _not _you're sick_ not _are you okay_

"Thank you for showing me this.

Thank you for not taking your own life back then.

Thank you for not doing it either this time.

Thank you for being alive right here, right now."

he was a sinner wasn't he

then why was Antonio thanking him

and a jerk and a friend laid silent

still in his reach he could still reach reach reach

wrapped his fingers around it and cut cut cut slash slash slash

bleed red like his sunflowers

but no he wouldn't

a jerk and a friend was still in his reach

the mirror was still not subtle

but his hands had found their way onto Antonio's back

the fabric of his shirt soft under his touch

crinkled as he wrapped his fingers around it

and Antonio held him there like a lifeline

although he was the one needing lifeline

was the one who was expected to die and had expected to die

painted his lifeline red with his blood

ugly

"Thank you for being here,"

It was funny that it wasn't him who said it, but it was Antonio before he kissed him on the forehead

and on his dry but swollen (for tears) eyes

tracing his scars with his warm fingers

and pulled him into another hug

even though Antonio was the one being there

warmth of the dawn and of the sunset and of the earth

red like tomatoes like blood flowing in his veins

like life

red like his tomatoes and Feliciano's roof

red like life

"Thank you."

* * *

><p><strong>This chapter has a connection with chapter 13 - Blue Purple Red.<br>**


	71. Breeze

It was December when they finally had the time to meet again. Antonio had to admit, his college didn't waste any time to give the new students assignments worthy of one of the more senior. Or maybe he was just surprised because he hadn't expected it before and he might exaggerate a little.

After that day when Romano called him first, and for the first time too, they had stayed in contact through cellphone only. It wasn't like he could help it. He wanted to meet the Italian as often as possible, wanted to talk to him and made him smile and swear and glare like he always did, but his schedule just didn't allow him to. If Romano had any complaints about that, he sure didn't say anything about it. In most of their conversations, he sounded tired and gloom, and he didn't sound as angry as he usually be. He said he was tired because of his multiple part-time jobs and school assignments, not to mention he would be having graduation exam next year, but Antonio knew there was more to that. He didn't press him to tell him that though. He tried to keep the conversation as light and happy as possible. He didn't want to make those calls they had become the thing Romano wanted the least.

It was afternoon, and although the sun was high in the sky, it was surrounded with clouds, softening its usually sharp ray and illuminating the area with faded light, leaving not even the faintest of shadow. Leafless trees lined the street side by side with the grey pavement, their bare branches seemed to reach out. Cold December wind blew rather harshly in the cloudy day, passing through the twigs and forcing them into a gentle dance. But the crowds of the street didn't cease even a little, seemingly unperturbed by the cold weather and in Antonio's eyes, the whirl of people passing by in their hurry seemed to paint the scenery grey. He chuckled to himself as he made his way toward the park. For him to be thinking like that was quite funny, since Antonio didn't feel like an art person. That way of thought would be more fit for Romano, or Francis at the least. He tugged the collar of his coat a bit higher and inwardly scolding himself for forgetting his scarf. But as he turned left at the fork in road and came into the view of the park, he couldn't prevent a smile from creeping into his face at the sight of the person standing under a bare tree.

Antonio quickened his steps and by the time he reached him, his smile was so wide it could split his face in two. Romano looked up at him just as he came to a stop before him, and his face softened although just barely, relaxing his whole figure and blending him into the soft scenery around them.

"Sorry, did you wait long?" Antonio was honestly apologetic, but his smile seemed to betray him because it only grew wider, making Romano frown at the sight.

"Yes, until my feet feel like they might kill me and my face feels like the Snow Queen just blew on them." He rolled his eyes at Antonio's horrified expression. "Just kidding, moron."

Antonio let out a laugh and wrapped his arms around the other's slender figure, squeezing him lightly. He didn't notice how Romano flinched, but the Italian returned the hug willingly, his hand grabbing a hold on Antonio's coat. They held on like that for a moment, listening to each other's breath before letting go almost regretfully.

Puffing out mist through his nose, he smiled down to Romano and grabbed the other's hand, intertwining their fingers in a light, playful way. He felt Romano's scowl at him but the Italian's palm relaxed in his.

"How was school?" It might be a good start to ask about something aside from home, Antonio thought as he led them to a nearby bench.

Romano shrugged, acting nonchalant as he let out a misty breath and watching it disintegrate in the air before him. "Fine. Kind of boring since all the teachers only talk about the damn graduation exam and colleges and how we have to plan for our future, et cetera et cetera et cetera." He sat down on the bench and shook a stray leaf from his hair, and Antonio noticed how he didn't lean back against the wooden seat. Romano followed his gaze and seemed to realize, abruptly yanking his hand away from Antonio's in an attempt to divert his attention. "How long are you going to be a sappy touchy feely bastard anyway?"

Antonio forced out a chuckle and scratched the back of his head sheepishly. "Sorry, sorry. I didn't notice." It was a lame answer, and he knew that, letting it die down in the wind, but Romano seemed to appreciate it because his scowl softened in just a briefest moment. "How's Matthew? You and him are still hanging around together, aren't you?"

"He's fine. He's such a worrywart, bringing a textbook with him everywhere and keep bugging me about math formulas. I told him if he doesn't stop about it, I'm going to stuff his glasses into his mouth and throw his shitty books out of the window to the football court so they can use them for practice." A satisfied smirk found its way to his face and he chuckled. "That seems to work."

"You should stop torturing Matthew so much," Antonio told him in a disapproving tone, but he could tell that Romano knew he was grinning. "He'll run away one day if you keep threatening him."

"I don't always threaten him, saint Antonio," Romano rolled his eyes, emphasizing the last two words with a mocking tone. "I do that when he starts being the fucking worrywart he is. Other than that, we're fine."

"Glad to see you two being such merry friends," Antonio's carefree laughter filled the air around them before it was interrupted with a light shiver. He tugged his collar higher again, managing a sheepish smile when Romano turned and raised a brow at him.

"And here I thought you didn't wear your scarf because you have hot blood and you don't feel cold at all." Romano shook his head and gave him a skeptical look. "Why do I even forget how dumb you are?"

Antonio pouted and he was about to reply with his usual statement that he wasn't dumb (which was useless because nobody ever believed him about that anyway) but it came to a halt in his throat when Romano took off his scarf and wrapped it around his neck. The Italian blushed slightly, seemingly unable to believe it himself that he was actually doing that. He adjusted the dark green fabric on the Spaniard's neck and patted it lightly as he finished. "Fucking done."

Antonio was snapped out of his daze at that moment and he hurriedly tried to take the scarf off, at which Romano glared at him. "Roma, I'm fine. It's just a little cold. I won't freeze or something just because of that."

"Shut up and just stop that, bastard." Romano slapped his hand and gave him a look like a mother who scolded a little child to stop fiddling with his bow tie. "I'm fine. I didn't wear that because I'm cold or something." At the statement, his breath hitched in his throat but he regained his composure quickly. "A-and I'm wearing gloves and you're not, stupid."

Antonio's eyes flickered almost instantly to his neck, spotting fresh red handprint circling it. He felt anger bubbling up inside him along with the nausea, but Romano gave him a look, half pleading and half distressed. "Don't fucking start, Antonio."

He was reminded again of that day, them sitting on the cold tiles of Romano's bathroom and the Italian held out his the inner side of his wrist for him to see, and the pale red scars running like a pattern, the reminder of a harsh memory. He remembered of how Romano had been willing to tear down another layer of his barrier and he knew that the Italian was doing the same thing now, so vaguely anyone who didn't know him well wouldn't notice. Romano wore the scarf to hide those handprint his father had left on his neck from the eyes of people, but he hadn't mind to let Antonio see it. He certainly was uncomfortable about that, but he was trying, and Antonio wouldn't ruin that. So he settled with breathing out a faint sigh from his mouth and nodded forlornly.

A ghost of a smile passed through Romano's face, the only sign of his gratitude before he returned to his usual scowl. "So, how's your college?"

"Busy," Antonio replied with a laugh, his breath creating light mist before him. "They taught us the basics at the beginning of the semester, and after that there are assignments everyday." He settled himself against the back rest of the bench. "But I enjoy it, so it's not really as bad as it sounds." He ended with a reassuring tone, stifling a chuckle at the concealed concern in Romano's frown. "I think that's one good point about college. You get to learn what you like."

"Get to learn what you like, eh," Romano trailed off, both his voice and his eyes were distant. "That would be great." His head was lowered even so slightly and Antonio cocked his head slightly to the side so he could see him better.

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing," The Italian raised his head and he turned to gaze forward, the soft diffused light of the scenery reflecting in his golden eyes and shading it slightly with grey. "I wonder if I should go to one."

"Of course you should!" Antonio's reply came out short to a yell, surprising both of them. Romano gave him an irritated raised eyebrow which clearly stating 'what the hell, bastard?'

"You should go to a college, Romano," Antonio continued more quietly, although no less reverently. "You're really good at painting. Really, really good. It'll be such a pity if you don't learn about it more in college and… what do they call it again…" He made a lifting gesture with his hands helplessly.

"Enhancing? Sharpening?" Romano must be in a fairly good mood today if he was giving him a little help.

"Yes, enhancing, errr, sharpening, whatever, your skill!" He ended his sentence with less impact than he had wanted, but at least he got his point across.

"I got your point, so no need to be all jumpy, bastard," Romano scoffed, although his tone was far from irritated. "I'm not that good. You're just too idiot with sun sprinkling on top to realize that." He smirked at the pout that formed at the Spaniard's face. But his tone was genuine when he continued. "But I do want to go to college."

"And you will," Antonio assured him, grinning. "Maybe you can start applying for scholarship?"

"In my dreams," Romano snorted, but he seemed to contemplate the idea. "Why are we talking about me again? The last time I checked, we were talking about you and your dramatically busy college life."

"It's okay, there's nothing much happening with my college either," Antonio averted his eyes to the quiet park, watching some children playing in a sandbox with a light interest. "And I'd rather talking about you and your future plans, Roma."

He noted from the corner of his eyes the roll of eyes accompanied with a faint blush from Romano, and allowed a small smile creeping into his face but said nothing.

"Future plans my ass," Romano followed his gaze onto the children, his expression relaxing for just a moment before it went gloom again. "Considering my plan to fucking get out of that house, college is the last thing I'm concerned about."

It clicked something in Antonio's mind and he faintly recalled Romano mentioning about moving out of the house when he'd gotten enough money. He turned his eyes back to the Italian next to him. "Now that you mentioned it, how is it?"

"Slow, but sure," There was no hint of sarcasm in his voice, so Antonio knew he was telling the truth. "Getting more than two part-time jobs helped. And I try to be as frugal as possible too. Hell, I bet Matthew's seeing me as some kind of a poor old bum because of that." The last part came out lightly, and a chuckle escaped his lips. "He thinks too much for his own good. Even his brother doesn't seem like he cares about anything."

"He's only worried about you, you know," Antonio followed him in his chuckle. He felt his heart lightened just a bit at Romano's more relaxed tone. "It's good that you're having progress, but don't overwork yourself."

"It's what Matthew's been telling me three times a day," Romano rolled his eyes, but he didn't sound like he truly mind. "Don't join him on that. I've had enough. And if I don't overwork myself, I won't be able to fly out of the house by the fucking worshipped graduation."

Antonio wanted to argue, but he found himself without better argument. He didn't want Romano to overwork himself, he could practically see how thinner the Italian had become, but as Romano had said, if he didn't then he would have to spend more years inside the house with his father who didn't even consider him his son anymore and was more than eager to show that. He wanted to help, maybe lending him money, anything that would help. But Romano had clearly refused when he told him that and Antonio knew nothing would make him change his mind. With a defeated sigh, he replied dejectedly, "Alright. Just… just tell me if you need any help, okay?" He gave the Italian a firm look. "You know you can call me anytime. Don't keep silent about it."

Romano scowled at him, looking like he wanted to give a challenging respond, but the corner of his lips twitched slightly at the look of his face, and he responded with an accepting tone, laced with mockery. "Fine, mother hen."

"I can't help it! I have a growing baby chick in my care," Antonio retorted with a teasing smile, at which he earned a jab on the ribs. Not that he mind it, of course. He'd been missing Romano's hitting. Somehow, that had earned him a title from Francis. What was that again? Maso something? He shrugged it off and decided to just ask his French friend later when they met.

The rest of the day went peacefully, and Antonio didn't bother hiding his disappointment when the sky darkened, telling them it was the time to leave. Romano seemed to be feeling the same, if his deepened frown and his grim expression indicating anything. Both rose to their feet and Antonio exhaled the winter air deeply for one last time. Beside him, Romano stuffed his hands into his coat pockets and set his gaze forward again.

They left the park and went to the bus stop. The bus heading for his dorm and the one heading for Romano's house were in opposing direction, but he insisted on walking the younger man to his bus stop, and Romano gave up without putting too much of a fight. The crowd in the bus stop was still sparse when they arrived and the bus wasn't there yet, so Antonio proposed for them to go visit the nearby vending machine. Romano didn't seem to mind, and he only gave him a light smack on his arm when Antonio said it was so they would have some more private time too.

Antonio bought a canned coffee, and Romano refused to have anything, saying that he couldn't bring himself to drink those fake beverage they called coffee, earning a choked laughter from Antonio. They walked back to the bus stop more slowly, taking their time as the sky turned to more solid dark blue and the street lights started flickering to life.

"The bus's coming," Romano muttered, his breath hazing in front of him. Antonio spotted it too, the big blue vehicle approaching the bus stop. They quickened their steps and waited as the crowd filing in one by one, bidding their time even if by several more seconds. When the crowd was thinning to only about five people, Antonio pulled the Italian into a hug, burying his face in his dark brown hair, the strands tickling his nose lightly.

"See you, Romano."

"Yeah, see you." Romano tried to sound nonchalant, but the way he buried his face in Antonio's shoulders saying otherwise.

And then, out of an impulse as he tightened his arms around the smaller man slightly, reluctant to let go, Antonio said it.

"I love you."

* * *

><p><strong>So very sorry this update took so long. I'll try to update the next one soon, Thursday or Friday for the latest.<br>**

**Really, really sorry. Thank you for all who read this, who are still reading this, and who took and take time to review. I really appreciate it.**


	72. Lies

"I love you."

It took three full seconds for the gears in his head to finally clicked

for a moment, his heart did a painful, loud beat

and the December wind clawing on his back mercilessly, sharp with cold

he thought he had forgotten how to breath.

"_I'll come back for you, I promise."_

he didn't let his mind finish the words

he shoved Antonio, hard.

"Don't you dare…"

"_I'm sorry_

_I'm sorry_

_I'm sorry_

_I'll come back for you, I promise."_

"Don't you dare say that word."

"_I love you."_

it would be a lie if he said he hadn't seen that coming

it would be a lie too if he said he hadn't expected it

he had so desperately hoped,

and yet he had forgotten that he had no right to

because even after all those times, all of their time together and Antonio's genuine promises and patience,

he hadn't been fully honest to him

he didn't want to be 'loved'

but because of it,

he too had become a liar.

"R-Romano?"

He wanted to scream, he wanted to shove Antonio harder onto the concrete pavement, he wanted to be angry, to be furious, to feel betrayed,

but he couldn't

because Antonio didn't know anything

anything about the door that stayed closed even though he had been waiting for five years until he stopped to do so altogether

anything about the broken dishes and fallen bookcases and gloomy pictures _and broken wrist and blue bruises on his face and purple ones on his sides and red blood on his wrist_

anything about the shattered rosary _because father had gripped too hard and it had broken until there was nothing left except for lifeless beads on the floor, until there was nothing left of him but a soundless cry_

anything about the words so persistently playing in his head for year, holding the wound open and spreading salt on it until it was nothing more than dull pain

dull pain but was still pain nonetheless

Antonio didn't know any of it

and it was difficult to get angry at someone who didn't know, who didn't understand, who _maybe_ hadn't meant it the way he thought he did

Antonio didn't deserve that shove,

and Antonio certainly didn't deserve that bitterness, that anger, that betrayal in his heart that wanted to burst out so badly

"Sorry."

He had meant it when he said it, and he watched as Antonio's face turned from confused to concerned.

"Romano, what…"

"You don't need to know."

_It's better if you don't_

because he knew that to the rest of the world, love was something entirely different from what he believed

"_There are several types of love. Agape, phileo, and two other ones from Greek that were never used in New Testament."_

he remembered the color red

passion, arousal, sex, **love**

the scar on his wrist _his sin_ felt hot beneath the wristwatch

"_Agape is charitable, selfless, altruistic,"_

he stepped into the bus with no more words

he watched Antonio's confused and concerned face as the bus door closed

his emerald eyes reflected the golden light of the street lamp

_dawn and sunset and earth_

_emerald was green, but it wasn't just green_

Antonio didn't need to know

_why?_

because he was afraid

when Antonio knew, when he learned about that,

_a sun would never look at a mass of gas_

_it keeps its gravitation for the gas just because it doesn't realize it's doing it_

_when he realizes, truly realizes_

_truly see that what he thought is a sparkling star,_

he would (finally) think he was a freak

a miserable, shameless freak who couldn't let go of the past

a liar who despite all his patience and his hopes and his promises, had never told him the most important thing

someone who had and still rejected love

"_Agape is unconditional."_

Antonio loved and was loved

he was the sun, the dawn and the sunset, the life of the earth

he gave love and he meant it.

_I don't want to be 'loved'_

"_I'll come back for you, I promise._

_I love you."_

"_Agape is __**parent to child**__."_

_it's a lie._

his father was right, he was an ungrateful bastard

because he didn't want to be 'loved'

_when the sun truly sees what he thought is a sparkling star is only a mass of gas, unworthy of its gravity_

_a mass of gas that shines only because the light of the stars around it is spared inside it_

_the sun would pull away, would take the gravity, __**the life**__ out of it_

_and the mass of gas would it be no longer_

_it would only be dust scattered in the vast galaxy_

anything but be 'loved'

after all,

what is charitable?

what is selfless?

what is altruistic?

what is parent to child?

**what is unconditional?**

_they are all lies_


	73. Definition

"Romano,"

"What?"

"Did something happen?"

"No. Why do you ask?"

"Well…"

_Hesitate [verb] Pause before saying or doing something, especially through uncertainty_

rustle of paper, the huff of a book being put down on a solid surface, and then the sound of pencil scribbling

"What is it?"

_Impatient [adjective] Having or showing the tendency to be quickly irritated or provoked_

"You just seem unfocused these past few days, so I thought…"

"Pass me the damn dictionary."

_Distracted [adjective] Unable to concentrate because one's mind is preoccupied_

"Here. I'm serious, Romano. Did something happen?"

"Since when did you turn into an annoying motherfucking mother hen? Oh, I forgot, you _are_ one."

_Cranky [adjective] (cranki-er, cranki-est; informal) Ill-tempered, irritable._

"See? You're moodier, and that's exactly why something must have happened."

"Don't talk like you fucking know me."

"I don't, but I'm not blind to see that something is bothering you."

_Concern [verb] Worry (someone), make anxious._

"Tell me the meaning of pry"

"Inquire too closely into a person's private affair. Don't change the subject, please."

"I don't. We're studying, and the subject is English, dummy."

_Avoid [verb] Keep away or stop oneself from (doing something)_

"You know what I meant."

"No, I don't know what you're talking about when we're supposed to be fucking studying like you have pleaded me to."

"I wasn't-! That's not the matter here."

"Yeah, it's not. Because the matter here is the fucking final is _next month_. Underlined, in bold letters, capitalized. So shut up and test me."

A sigh.

"Tell me the meaning of quarrel."

"An angry argument or disagreement."

_typically between people who are usually on good terms_

"Right. Your turn."

"Listen."

"Give one's attention to a sound. Take notice of and act of what someone says."

"Next."

_Charitable [adjective] Of or relating to the assistance of those in need. Generous in giving to those in need._

"This dictionary is dumb."

"Why's all of a sudden?"

"Nothing. Just discovering something silly."

"Oh, alright. Alter."

"Too easy. Change or cause to change in character of composition."

_Altruistic [noun] The belief in or practice of disinterested and selfless concern for the well-being of others._

"Right. I think we're enough in English."

"Do I seriously hear this from the paranoid Matthew Williams?"

"Oh, shut up."

A chuckle, the sound of books being shuffled and the paper being shoved into the backpack.

"What's next? Don't tell me it's math."

"Nope. Physics."

A groan.

"Equally annoying. Fan-fucking-tastic."

"It's okay if you don't want to tell me,"

_Lying [adjective] Not telling the truth_

"But at least talk to Antonio."

"Can we just fucking let it drop? And I didn't bring my physics books."

"No, I won't. I've let it drop too many times and I regret it. Let's change it to chemistry then."

_Regret [verb] Feeling sad, repentant, or disappointed over (something that has happened or been done)_

"You don't have to fucking regret about anything. None of what happened is your fault. _Nice_ choice. I need to borrow your notes anyway."

_Failure [noun] Lack of success. An unsuccessful person, enterprise, or thing._

"Here. It's not, but I could've started caring sooner."

"Where's the section about acid? You _have _been caring. Too damn much, actually. So stop blaming yourself over that stupid reason."

_Blame [verb] Assign responsibility for a fault or wrong._

"Give it to me for a moment. If I'm not to blame myself, then the same goes for you too, Romano."

"What are you talking about?"

A scowl, violet eyes locked into golden ones for several seconds, each held their grounds.

"You should stop blaming yourself for what your father does to you."

_Done [adjective] Carried out, completed, or treated in a particular way_

_Did |past of do|_

_Do [verb] Perform (an action). Present tense_

"…Shut up."

Both sets of eyes were lowered. One sullen, one dejected.

"Here. Do you want to copy it first or should we study first and then you can bring this home and copy it later?"

"I'll copy it first. Won't take long."

"Okay. I'll look into the material that might be in exam for the meantime then."

Rustling of paper, the sound of pen against paper, the shuffling of books.

"Romano,"

A grunt in response.

"I know how it feels to hate yourself, to fear what people might think of you if you open yourself to them,"

_Insecure [adjective] (of a person) Not confident or assured; uncertain and anxious_

No answer. The sun was setting outside, painting the desk with orange and golden and red tint

_Sin [noun] An immoral act considered to be transgression against divine law_

"But you can at least trust the ones who really care about you. _I_ care about you, and I know Antonio does too."

_Care [verb. intrans] Feel concern or interest; attach importance to something_

"Just go back to your damn books, Mattie."

_Unconditional [adjective] Not subject to any condition_

"Please consider it, alright?"

_Love [noun] 1. An intense feeling of deep affection; a deep romantic or sexual attachment to someone._

A whisper so soft, it was drowned in the rustling of leaves outside and the sound of pen against paper.

"It's not like I can talk about it."

"Sorry, I didn't catch it. What is it?

"Nothing."

_Love [verb; trans.] Feeling a deep romantic or sexual attachment to (someone)._


	74. Unexpected

He ran out of the house that evening

_out_, not _away_, sadly

he couldn't yet

he had almost not cared back then in the house,

when father screamed (again), kicked him on his sides (again), shoved him onto the counter (again), and had reached for the knife (again)

but he didn't let father paint today, he got to his feet and despite the flaring pain on his right wrist and the throbbing of his body, he ran out,

out out out

even though it was raining outside

lightly at first, getting heavier by seconds, until it became a downpour

his back was on fire, his sides ached, and his wrist throbbed, but he kept on walking

his breath came out ragged, out of his lungs, lungs that had been screaming for oxygen for so many times since he had been thirteen, since father had decided it would be best to silence _him_ when he had been angry

the thin t-shirt and his old hoodie were wet from the rain and they were plastered uncomfortably against his body, his body that had experienced father's kicks when he had been ten, the dull but painful edge of the counter when he had been fourteen, father's way of carving graffiti when he had been seventeen

he tried to look up at the sky but the rain didn't give him he chance, coming down and stabbing his face like knives, his face that had come into contact so many times with father's fists.

He had had enough

he had had enough since long ago, actually

when father had started to kick him, he had been a naïve little boy. He had thought that if he endured it, if he didn't scream, if he didn't show father his tears, maybe one day father would stop

when father had started to punch his face, he had been more stupid than he had ever been, covering it with lies like he had been careless and clumsy, he had walked onto walls and tripped down the stairs, or slammed his face on the telephone pole by accident. Stupid stupid stupid because no one really cared to question it and father knew that

when father had started to wrap his hands around his neck, ignoring his terrified cries and choked pleas, he had been terrified, because what if people saw it and started asking? Then they would know that he was such a failure that even his own father wanted to be rid of him

when father had started to shove him onto things (his favorite had been and was still the kitchen counter, because it wasn't sharp, but it was hard and painful and didn't make any sound when it came into contact with his body), he had been dumb enough to feel relieved because at least the _blue and purple_ bruise would be hidden by the clothes

when father had first pulled out the knife, he had had the impulsive courage to fight him, struggling against his grasp and trying to shove father off him, but that had earned him more kicks and new scars and the realization that despite his age, despite his alcoholic tendency, father was still a strong man

he wondered why he hadn't died yet.

And even though he was shivering by now, he was glad that it was raining

because he felt so much like crying

crying because he had been so utterly, obviously, dumb

dumb and stupid and pathetic

because he had been and was the one hurting but he had been and was the one trying so much to cover what had been done to him

because he hated everything that father done to him, but he blamed himself more than he blamed father

he was such a failure, wasn't he?

"Romano?"

That voice sounded familiar

he lifted his face and came face to face with someone holding an umbrella, a plastic bag in one hand

silver hair and crimson eyes

Gilbert.

He blinked, the faint memory tugging on his mind, of how Antonio told him that although he and Francis would continue to college, Gilbert would stay in the town and get a job instead

he wondered why they had never crossed path in the street before, not that he wanted it.

"What the hell are you doing here? Out in this ungodly rain without even a fucking umbrella?"

"I can be anywhere anytime I want, potato bastard."

"Have to admit I don't miss that nickname."

"Fuck off, Gilbert."

But the potato bastard didn't move from his spot, and he didn't know that Gilbert could look that serious, his crimson eyes studying him up and down

"You look like you've just come out of hell. Are you okay?"

He wanted to laugh because that was just what happened to him, all in literal and metaphorical meanings.

"I'm okay. Just leave me the fuck alone."

He certainly didn't expect a hand grabbing his wrist when he started to walk away

his broken wrist

and he cursed himself of not being able to stop from crying out

Gilbert's eyes widened.

"You broke your wrist!"

"Yeah, so?"

"Oh, goddamn it, just come with me to my house. My grandpa can help you."

"It's just a fucking broken wrist, for crying out loud!"

"Not the broken wrist. Fuck that, just come with me."

He really didn't understand what this bastard was saying, and his grip on his arm was strong.

"Would you just let me go, bastard?!"

"Bad for you, but no. You might be a jerk, but you're my best friend's boyfriend, and that makes me kind of responsible of ensuring your safety while he's not here."

"That's fucking ridiculous!"

"Nope, because I'm such an awesome friend. And as unawesome as you are, you don't deserve to be out in this kind of weather. And you certainly don't deserve to be out in this kind of weather _alone_ looking like that. If my brother were here, he would have better words to describe it, but you look like a lost kid, out in the middle of nowhere with a broken wrist and God knows what other injuries you might have."

He felt a rock fell into the bottom of his stomach, and he hoped that the nausea building in his throat wasn't real

because there was no way Gilbert knew, right?

He locked eyes with crimson ones for a moment, and his left wrist felt hot just beneath his watch

"I don't know what happened and what in Old Fritz name has been happening to you, but my grandpa told me about what he saw when Antonio brought you to him a year ago."


	75. Love

He was deep in his homework when his cellphone rang. Frowning slightly, he didn't expect anyone to call this time of the day, Antonio checked the caller ID before putting the cellphone to his ear.

"Hey, Gil."

"Yo, Toni. Sorry to bother you, but can you come here, to my place?"

He glanced at the unfinished homework and suppressed a sigh. "Sorry, Gil. Now's a bad time for me. Why so sudden anyway?"

"Romano's here."

That made him forget all about his homework. "What? Did something happen? Is he okay?"

"Chill out, man. You sure jump into the negative conclusion first. He doesn't look okay, that's why I called. I think you should come and talk to him."

Cradling the phone between his ear and his shoulder, Antonio grabbed his coat and hastily slipped on his shoes. "I'll be there soon. Is he…" He stepped out and locked the door behind him, hesitating for a second before finishing his words. "Is he hurt?"

"He broke his wrist, that's all I know."

Antonio took a deep breath and he let it out in a shaky, barely contained anger. That demon of a father. No matter how many times he'd seen the bruise, the handprint, the scar, he still couldn't get used to it, couldn't contain his anger and resentment. And he still didn't have the answer to all the whys that'd been plaguing his mind since the first time he knew the truth. Why did it have to be Romano? Why was a man like that should be his father? "I'll be right there."

"See you, man."

They hung up and Antonio stepped into the bus stop not far from his dorm. It was the beginning of spring, but the air was still cold enough to require an extra layer of clothes. He shivered lightly and tugged the collar of his coat higher. Gilbert's words replayed in his mind.

"_He doesn't look okay, that's why I called. I think you should come and talk to him"_

Talk. That was what they hadn't been able to do these past 3 months. Since their last meeting that ended in an abrupt, confusing way, he and Romano hadn't talked much. They still exchanged text messages, but Romano's reply became shorter and he always tried to end the conversation as soon as possible. It worried Antonio, but it hurt him more.

It wasn't the shove or the angry, shaking reply he received that day that hurt him, but the fact that Romano wouldn't talk about that to him. _Still_ wouldn't talk. He let out a heavy sigh and kept his eyes on the road, feeling more and more nervous as minutes seemed to be passing by and still there was no sign of the bus.

He had known that it would take time to gain Romano's full trust. He knew that the younger man had trusted him, but not enough to tell him everything. He had told himself that it was reasonable and justifiable.

Romano had been betrayed by the very person whom he should be able to trust in one of the worst ways possible. He had been lonely when his mother and brother left; he had believed his father to love him, he had believed his father loved him. Yet, he had that pure trust shattered into pieces.

It was in every other word, justifiable for him to lose faith in people. If even his own father was able to treat him like that, what makes other people different?

Yet, it was somehow frustrating and painful for Antonio to see that so clearly directed at him. He loved Romano, everything of him, that he was willing to not be trusted for the time being if that meant they could take steps together. If he didn't rush things, if he was patient, if he wasn't too persistent, one day Romano would surely see it, and he would surely understand.

The bus came and Antonio all but jumped into it. He sat on a vacant seat and directed his gaze outside. Those thoughts and feelings had been suffocating him those past month, but now his worry was greater. As painful to admit as it was, it shouldn't be an entirely new thing for Romano to break his wrist. But for him to end up at Gilbert's place, and most of all, Gilbert even felt the need to call him, that was what worry him the most.

He tapped his fingers on his lap and hoped with all his heart that there would be some kind of luck and it wouldn't take an entire hour to get to Gilbert's place.

-o-

Antonio didn't know it was raining there, so when he arrived in front of Gilbert's door, he was soaked. His albino friend himself opened the door and gestured him to come in.

"Man, you're soaked. You want me to bring you spare clothes?"

"No, you don't need to. A towel would be nice though."

"Got it. Just a minute." He gave Antonio a comforting pat on the shoulder at his worried look. "He's in the kitchen. Dry yourself first before seeing him, so you two can talk without any interruption."

"Thanks, Gil." Antonio gave him a genuine smile of gratitude and Gilbert grinned at him.

"No problem, man. Kesese."

When Antonio stepped into the kitchen, Romano was sitting on one of the chair around the table, his head lowered and his fringe obscuring his face. He had Gilbert's shirt on and it hung slightly on his frame. Antonio noticed the fading bruise on his cheek and the stillness of his right hand, and he felt his heart ache.

Romano lifted his head when he entered the room and his hazel golden eyes met his, widening in surprise. Antonio tried to smile, but his lips felt tight. Romano looked uneasy and muttered curses under his breath, most likely to Gilbert. Antonio moved to pull a chair to sit in front of him, but suddenly he remembered of how it reminded him of an interrogation, so he squatted before him instead.

He tried to meet Romano's gaze but the Italian avoided his eyes.

"Are you okay?" It sounded awkward and most of all, silly, but Antonio didn't know of any other way to start a conversation so he had to bear with it. Romano nodded slightly. He didn't even scowl, he just looked… defeated and Antonio's heart clenched on the sight.

He didn't reach out to touch him, not yet. He had learned that when Romano looked like that, that was when he had to be wise about physical contact. "I heard you broke your wrist."

"It's not a big deal."

"Where else do you hurt?"

Romano gave him the 'should I answer that' look, but Antonio didn't retract his question. Talk. That was what they needed.

"He shoved me onto the counter and kicked my sides several times, but nothing's broken," He muttered, shifting his gaze on the side. Antonio nodded lightly, but couldn't find anything to say. He licked his dry lips and decided to move right into the heart of the matter.

"Do you want to talk?"

He had expected Romano to refuse, but the answer really threw him off guard.

"I don't know," Romano's voice was low and his tone hung in the air. He still didn't meet Antonio's gaze, but he returned his eyes to his lap, fiddling with his fingers.

Antonio managed a small, understanding smile. "How about we talk then?" He didn't receive any answer, but he got up and pulled a chair to sit next to him instead of in front of him. They were silent for a moment, listening to the sound of the rain outside. He could faintly make out the sound of Gilbert playing video game in his room.

"I'm sorry for last December," It was the last topic he expected Romano to bring up that he had to restrain himself not to stare wide-eyed at the Italian.

"It's okay." No, it actually wasn't okay. Not the shove, not the reply, but the refusal to talk about it. It wasn't okay. Antonio inhaled deeply and formed his next words carefully.

"Romano, it's okay that you shoved me and got angry at me. But…" He felt him stiffened beside him but he didn't back down. They needed to do this, for both of their sake.

"Why won't you tell me anything? You left without giving any explanation. You practically avoided talking to me for months after that." He turned to look at him and this time he let his feelings out with the words. "Romano, I love you, and I don't mind taking this step by step, but sometimes it's hard, and it's painful to see that you won't tell me anything that time."

Romano bristled at the words, but he didn't sure which and despite that, he continued. "I know I shouldn't be asking more of you, since you've opened up to me so much and believe me, that meant so much to me. But this… it's just…" He realized that maybe he actually wasn't really fine with taking small steps. And that thought made him angry to himself. He should understand, him of all people. "Sorry… I know I sound really selfish."

"No, you're not," Romano shook his head. "I am."

"No, not blaming yourself of everything anymore," Antonio surprised himself of how firm he sounded. "Maybe you are selfish, but I am too. Both of us are."

"Fair enough," Romano's tone was surprisingly more relaxed and Antonio felt the knot in his chest loosening as well. "It's stupid, isn't it?"

"Maybe not so much," He chuckled. "Humans _are_ selfish." Silence fell between them again after that, albeit not as uncomfortable as before. From the corner of his eye, Antonio noticed Romano looking down at his lap again, this time seeming to be deep in thought. So he directed his eyes at the raindrops racing down the window and waited.

"I…" It started out softly, hesitantly, and almost unheard. But even with the noise of the rain hitting the window and the pavement outside, Antonio could still catch it in the silence of the room. "I don't want you to say you love me."

He turned to look at him, but Romano still kept his gaze down. "I know that sounds really fucking wrong, but I… I don't want to be loved, Antonio."

That sent a painful jab into his heart and Antonio couldn't hold himself back as he croaked. "Why?" The hurt was clear in his voice that Romano flinched. It took him a moment before replying.

"What is love anyway?" He sounded hollow and bitter and he absently rubbed his broken wrist. "A man and a woman swear their love in marriage, but in the end it just needs one disagreement, and their 'love' comes down into pieces."

He paused and for a moment there was only the sound of their breath in the room. "They say true love is parent's love to child. They say it's unconditional, altruistic, and all that,"

Antonio could see where this was heading, but he still couldn't figure out why Romano, as he had said, didn't want to be loved. If his words referred to his father, wouldn't he want to be loved instead? Because he hadn't had it from his father and would never have. But the next words, he hadn't seen it coming.

"But my mother said that she would come back for me because she loved me. And she never did." He sounded firmer now and there was anger dripping down his words. "Love is just a pretty word people use to conceal the lies. Love is said everyday in every part of this world, but even then, war rages on, parents kick their children out of their home, children get abused, teenagers spit on their own parents' face, and babies are killed because of poverty."

He exhaled heavily. "It's a lie, love. And God knows I don't want it. I love you, I'll come back for you, my ass." He rubbed his eyes furiously and kept his head down.

Everything that Romano had said and everything that he'd been able to piece together didn't seem to be connected, but at the same time they weren't that disconnected at all. Somehow he understood, but if one asked for him to sum it into words, Antonio couldn't. He was able to picked up one thing, though.

For Romano, love meant lies. His mother had said she loved him, had promised she would come back for him, but she never did. That, coupled with those years spent beaten around by his father, had formed the belief inside his heart. If even your own parents' love couldn't be trusted, then love itself was meaningless. It was just a pretty word in this twisted world.

The belief itself was very sad and lonely. But Romano held onto it firmly, unwavering in his bitterness and his pain, because for him it was the only thing that would keep him standing in the waves of trials the world threw at him. Accept that love is only a lie. By doing that, the wish to be loved would never come to him, and he wouldn't be hurt. Not again.

And now Antonio finally understood about what actually happened that day. And he desperately wanted to believe that he finally knew the last piece that had shaped this young man before him, strong but fragile, kept his head down and hiding himself in the shadows of other people but held his head high against the world. He leaned forward and pulled him into his embrace.

Romano stilled in his arms for a moment, but then he leaned into his touch, his good hand grasping Antonio's back in an almost desperate hold. Antonio pulled back slightly, just enough to touch their foreheads together, and whispered.

"Thank you, Romano."

Romano closed his eyes and breathed against his lips. "What for, idiot?"

"For telling me all this," He brushed his fringe away gently and kissed his forehead. "For letting your walls down for me."

"It's nothing to be thanked for," He was persistent, but his tone was gentle, wistful almost. "I'm not worthy of your gratitude. Even more, I don't deserve you, and I don't think I will ever do."

"And I'm going to tell you over and over again, you persistent, beautiful fool. You do, and it won't change." He still kept their foreheads together, looking at Romano's closed eyes and carefully form his words inside his heart. "I love you, Romano. And even though I now know you don't want to, I will still say it."

Hazel golden eyes opened and met with emerald ones, both held their gaze evenly and calmly. It was rare that both of them was this open, this honest, this calm, and Antonio didn't want to let any second of this moment go to waste.

"Love is indeed something that can't be described easily. And not all love are like you said, unconditional. But do you agree that because of that, not all love are lies too?"

Romano's eyes bore into his, and they were such a warm color they reminded him of the sun, of the golden field of wheat, of the water reflecting the sunset. "Then tell me what your love is."

It sounded almost challenging, but in those eyes there wasn't any fire. Just calm and almost submissive look. Antonio inhaled slowly, deeply.

"I want to see you smile and smile with you." He started. "I want you to be safe with me. And I didn't mean just physically."

Romano hadn't broken eye contact. He was still listening, open and trusting. Antonio's eyes softened and he let a small, genuine smile lightened his face.

"I want to keep you safe. And I want to make you happy. Just as simple as that." He breathed out. "Love doesn't have to be all complicated. At least that's what I believe."

"How can you be sure that it's not pity?"

Antonio chuckled. "Honestly, I don't know. But I do know that if this is only pity, it won't make me smile when you scowl, or when you swear, or when you punch me. It won't make me feel breathless when you smile or when you laugh or even when your lips only twitch. It won't make me feel fury or hate toward the one who hurt you, in this case, your father. It won't make me wanting to make you uncomfortable if that means you will tell me what's bothering you, what's hurting you."

Emotions flickered in Romano's eyes, but before Antonio had time to decipher them, the smaller man leaned closer and kissed him. It wasn't a passionate kiss, or a desperate one. It was calm and patient and it surged with such trust that Antonio felt overwhelmed.

When they pulled away, the sight he saw, he would never forget. Because Romano was smiling. It was a gentle and grateful smile, one that reached his eyes.

"Alright, bastard," The swearing was back, rolling out his tongue smoothly, but without the usual grumpy or teasing tone. "I'm still not sure if I want to accept love, let alone be loved, or not. I still need time. But if you still want to be with me despite that,"

He leaned forward and rested his forehead on Antonio's chest. "I think I'm okay with this."

Antonio chuckled and kissed the crown of his head. "Of course I do. And how about from now on, we'll talk like this when we need it? It applies both to you and me of course." He added more quietly. "I need to start being honest with you too."

He felt Romano nodded. "Yeah. I'll try. I'll try harder."

After a long moment, they reluctantly broke apart and Antonio took Romano's hand in his to inspect his broken wrist, but the Italian shook his head and rested his head on Antonio's shoulder, closing his eyes. "Not now. Let's be like this for a little longer."

Antonio nodded and relaxed against the chair himself, gently stroking the other's damp hair.

Even though it was only temporary, even though he knew they would have to return to their life again soon, with Romano being kicked and punched and shoved and engraved by his father, with him not being able to do anything and hating himself for it, but now, at least just for now, he would like to keep this moment where they were honest and safe with each other as long as possible.

* * *

><p><strong>Very terribly sorry for this too late update, even though my busy week had long ended. I will say no excuses.<br>**

**I apologize too for grammar mistakes and possible OOC-ness.**

**This chapter is hard, really hard. I tried to make it as not-cheezy-or-cliche as possible, but maybe it still is. Toward the end of the chapter, I listened to **Westlife**'s **Safe.**Somehow it fits with Antonio's words and feelings and the atmosphere toward the end.**

**Thank you so much for all who read and review. **


	76. Grace

_**Amazing grace, how sweet the sound**_

_**that saved a wretch like me**_

Sometimes, nothing scared him more than something good happening in his life

something _too good_ to happen

it burst so many colors into his life, it was overwhelming

and then when he had the chance to finally feel content in those colorful moment,

it disappeared

ephemeral and ethereal, it disappeared

that was what he was afraid the most

so maybe, maybe

that day with Antonio

rain loud and hard on the window, every inch of his body throbbed,

but it was warm, everything of the sun

there was sunrise in his sketchbook

colorless, he didn't bring his colored pencils

it casted white streaks of light on the cliffs, the contour hard on the salty rocks

bleak white seagulls flew above

everything of the sun, warm and blinding and overwhelming

but ephemeral and ethereal, it ought to disappear one day.

He drew a flock of white birds

outstretched wings, feathers casting soft shadow beneath them

freedom, they would go

fleeting the paper, ephemeral and ethereal they would disappear

Antonio might really come to regret it one day

regret that he had chosen him

regret that he had loved him

and then just like the flock of birds, he would flee

out into the open sky, the sun and the life that he was

_grace,_ he thought bitterly.

A cracked glass, shapeless shards on the paper

dying, blood red wine dripping out of it

staining the surface black, pencil against paper, red against white, sin against mercy

he would be just like that when it happened

shapeless shards, condemned to nothingness, couldn't even be dying properly

because he'd fallen too deep, he couldn't crawl back up

he filled an entire paper with black pit

he felt like he hated himself more.

The next page was a cage

plain, simple steel cage

inside was a broken chain, the remnants casted long shadow over the picture

the cage cracked slightly, the steel bar decaying

even the room it was in was crumbling, grey bricks raining down, dust everywhere

that was because he'd allowed himself to finally rest

to finally admit that he was tired

keeping the cage intact, chaining himself, building a fortress of defense

it was exhausting

he couldn't cry, he couldn't tell, he couldn't stop, he couldn't rest

he couldn't give up

because giving up meant hurting

hurting much, much more

more than just the physical hits, more than just the hateful truth

giving up meant being 'loved'

giving up meant being lied to

giving up meant letting the whole world see

see the true him, all blue purple black red,

all evil disgusting jealousy inferiority sorrow loneliness sin

all nothing

giving up meant letting the whole world scorn him

but now he was halfway to that

just because he was tired

it was unjustifiable

the cage was crushed by the debris, the chain was nothing more than dust obscuring the vision.

His wrist hadn't fully recovered, it still stung a bit, but he didn't care

the next paper was blank, the white was threatening him

the emergency stair was undeniably hot today, but he didn't leave

he didn't want to go home

if only he brought his colored pencils, the squares of light would be more than just blank squares on the paper

colorless

it was scary

Antonio called.

"Yeah, I'm fine. The bruises don't throb as much now. School's a hell like usual."

there was a cliff, there was a tree, there was a tomato patch

"Just don't get sick because you're too excited. You're dumber than a fucking cow, of course I'm worried."

he hadn't drawn squirrel for a very long time

"Hey, Antonio, you remember the thing you said? About…"

the squirrel was halfway done on a branch, the stroke on its tail faded uncertainly

"About talking if there's something bothering me."

the afternoon light was brilliantly orange

orange like Feliciano's wall

_I still remember after all_

"It's…"

there was a broken cage, there was a cracked glass, there was black blood dripping out of it

there was the blue, dying sunset

"The event the other day is just so… so unreal, you know."

there were bleeding red sunflowers

"I'm scared that one day, you'll come to regret it."

there were rotten purple leaves

"Regret that you ever love me, regret that you ever be kind to me, regret everything. Because I'm just not worth it."

there was him, bruised blue on his face, bruised purple on his back, bleeding red from his wrist

"Maybe one day you'll be disappointed of me. Then you'll stop caring. Honestly, I can't even blame you."

there was the thirteen-year-old him, facing the mirror, holding the razor

"I don't know. Maybe I'll be too overbearing, maybe I'll be too annoying, maybe I'll be just everything."

there was him, staring with eyes black from jealousy of the first real friend he'd ever made, lying with rotten purple words

"I'm scared of it, Antonio. And I hate myself that I've decided to tell you this. Now you'll feel guilty or something."

there was him, little boy with green forest, brown tree trunks, blue river, red apples, purple flowers

"You know, I never want anyone to know I'm feeling like this. It's pathetic, and selfish more than anything else."

there was him, little boy with tears on his face, broken rosary beads on the floor

"No, you don't have to say anything, really. I know there's really no way to know what'll happen in the future. And I feel a bit guilty for feeling like this after all that you've done."

there was him, little boy with broken dishes, toppled bookcase, torn yellow red orange light blue picture

"But like I've said, I think I'm okay with this. I've been insecure all my life, I can bear one more."

there was his mother, _I'll come back for you I promise I love you_

"And I think…"

there was open sky, there was lush forest, somewhere in it, there was a red tomato patch and a yellow sunflower

_I'll start to trust you, really trust you_

"We'll be fine."

and there was a brilliant sunrise, a burst of colors, all green and orange and golden

"Yeah, I…" _**** you too _"No, never mind. See you, and take care, bastard."

_**I once was lost but now am found**_

_**was blind, but now I see**_


	77. Unnamed

He was on the school roof, laying on his back and facing the sky

above him, wide and boundless,

and blue, so very blue

the daytime sunlight wasn't that strong in the days of spring and the sky was blue at its fullest

blue like freedom was blue, not quite like loneliness was blue

not like the bruises on his back were blue

he took a breath and everything he breathed in was blue and freedom, but when he let it out it dusted his vision with the mist that wasn't there,

pale and white and mercy and merciless.

He wasn't really sure what to feel right now.

The final test was over and freedom breathed its very entity into the hallways of the school, slipping into classrooms through the narrow space under the doors and clouded the glass windows with the pictures of days filled with the absence of mind and the warmth of the sheet

it painted colorful graffito across the walls and attached springs to the steps of almost every youth

but for him it was mostly blue, like the sky in the sunny day in spring was blue.

He thought of nothing, then everything, as he listened to the noises of the last students fading into a mere sound of breeze below him in the school building

he blew a puff of breath absently and watched his fringe stirred

and then a shadow fell onto him and he almost choked, all grey and black, all stark contrast to the white surroundings,

except it was his mind tricking him with the twisted image, and instead of all grey and black against white, it was a pale shadow on the cream tiles of the roof

and instead of his father, it was his friend, with his crooked glasses and violet eyes and the absence of books in his arms

"What do you want, Matthew?"

his friend took a step back and the shadow retreated, turning sharp and flat on the floor as he sat down

"Final exam's over."

"Thank you for your useful information, Mr. Obvious."

"Ha ha. I knew you'd say that. What are you going to do in the long holiday?"

He breathed blue and formed a square with his fingers, fitting the infinity of freedom in the frame and thought of a song unfit to his condition but refused to leave his mind like the last leaf attached to the tree in the autumn, unreasonable and persistent.

_Now the old king is dead, long live the king_

"Move out somewhere," Out of the godforsaken house, out of the life that wasn't his

he wasn't Feliciano.

he wasn't his father's son.

they all spelled _out_.

"Oh,"

he closed his eyes and breathed in the smell of the sun; dreamless night and scars that no longer hurt played inside his eyelids like old projector, faraway and nostalgic, even though he'd never had that honor before.

"Good thing that you reminded me. I have a good news for you."

That day was warm for spring and the blue of the sky was the most beautiful color he'd ever seen in these past few weeks, so he expected nothing, looking at his friend's violet eyes and frowning at his faint smile that grew more visible

"And… what is it?"

"You know my cousin Arthur, right? His father, my uncle, owns an apartment and I explained to him that you're looking for one."

the small, imaginary and neutral bubble he was keeping in his chest suddenly stirred, all the words _maybe maybe maybe_ like echo bouncing off the hills tickled his chest pleasantly

Matthew's smile grew wider, that bastard

"And?"

"And he said there is a vacant one. He agreed to let you off the first month payment because you're my friend."

"What?! No, no, fucking no. I'm not going to be letting off of anything. I'll pay, even if I have to loan."

home, maybe he would finally be home, away and out

free

not quite like birds spreading out their majestic wings, open and blue sky all around them; ethereal and ephemeral, it seemed like they would disintegrate in the faintest touch of the tip of his fingers, free as they were

but more like turtle out of its shell, familiar and longing, more modest like blue and purple shadow sweeping across the blanket of leaves and moss in the forest, feeling every bit of its new steps with every inch of its small legs, all wonder and silent joy

he would pay for it, even if it meant him working himself to the bone or loaning from every person he knew

if it meant dreamless nights and quiet mornings and evenings welcomed with open arms without thinking of shouts and hate and smell of alcohol.

"No, there's no need, really. They're happy to help. They understand, Romano, and they said that you better use your money to buy furniture."

"I… fuck, Mattie. I can't do that, you jerk. I'll pay."

"Unfortunately, you have no say in this. And when I told him you're good at cooking, my uncle said that in case you refuse his offer, then you can teach Arthur how to cook, in exchange."

"That's an entirely different matter!"

"Deal or no deal. That's my final offer."

everything inside him burst out blue and purple and violet and sky blue and green, stirring and mixing up with each other and creating a whirlpool down inside his stomach, trickles of colors painting his inside with colors he couldn't even identify until he felt suffocated

"You're such a bastard."

"I know. But I'm a bastard who's your friend too."

and it finally exploded, he laughed out loud and for once felt like those birds, wings spread and gazes ahead,

ephemeral and ethereal, but somehow it felt so good, so good it was almost painful

Matthew laughed along with him, the two of them, blue purple black and red and violet bursting into the sky as it shifted from midday to afternoon

and for once even as the evening snaked at the edge of his mind, even as the blue of freedom and of the day shifted into the ultramarine and orange and dull opaque of the sunset, he kept on laughing, every bruise and every scar and every restrain seemed to be fading with his laughter, momentarily though they were

he remembered the door the true freedom had to gone through first before finally setting off,

but for now he was free, not wholly, but was enough

"Deal."

* * *

><p><strong>I have no excuse. I'm really sorry for this very late update m(_ _)m<br>**

_Now the old king is dead, long live the king_ **from Coldplay's Viva la Vida. For Romano, the meaning it implied is "to truly have your freedom (_long live the king_), you have to go through your father (_old king_) first". I now it's kinda lame, but I can't help but to insert that *smacked***_  
><em>

**Thank you so much for those who read, take time to review, and who still keep up with me and this fic until now. I am a happy fanfic writer ;u;**


	78. Interlude

"It's unfair, Romaaaaa"

Antonio was whining, his cellphone cradled between his shoulder and his ear and a pout curled on his lips. "Why do you pick such a bad day to pick up your furniture? I want to help!" But the pout didn't stay long and in another second he was grinning, though he didn't let it show in his voice.

"Because I want to get out of the fucking place as soon as possible, and your final exam won't be over in another week." He could picture the scowl in Romano's face and his own lips trembled in his attempt to hold back laughter. "Besides, we'll only go to some garage sale. Nothing special. I don't see why you should be so fucking dramatic about it."

"Well, because I want to be with you in picking up the pieces of your new life~" He said the last part in a sing sang voice and this time he did chuckle when Romano swore on the other side. He could picture the Italian's blushing face. "And you're going to go with Arthur! I don't like that eyebrow bastard."

"I'm going with him _and_ Matthew _and _Alfred. Don't be such a piss." Antonio pouted at the coffee-filled jug he was holding. There was a slight pause before Romano spoke again, sounding amused. "You must hate him so much for you to swear. And here I thought you're such an angel."

"Romano, you actually think of me like that? I'm honored!" He laughed when he heard the snort on the other side. "Arthur and me were indeed not best buddies. We pissed each other everytime we saw each other. Francis loved to make fun of it, saying that maybe it was because he was English and I'm Spanish." He shrugged and poured the coffee into a mug, watching the dark liquid swirled inside.

"Not make any fucking sense to me."

"Me neither," He put the empty jug into the sink and brought the mug to the table, the one he used as both a desk and a dining table. "Back to the topic, when will you move out into the apartment?"

"As soon as all necessary things are done. As soon as possible, I hope."

"You'll be fine," He sure hoped Romano would be. The boy sounded anxious, and he faintly had the clue as to why.

"I have to tell him before that, you know," The mood dropped almost instantly and Antonio didn't deny that his grip around the cellphone tightened slightly. He couldn't hope for a good outcome of that, considering Romano's father's nature. As if sensing his concern, Romano said in a firmer tone. "I have to, Antonio. I can't run away, not this time. I don't want to."

"You've never run away, as far as I know."

"I do. I never had the courage to fight him."

"That's not running away!" Antonio sighed heavily into the phone and for a moment there wasn't any answer.

"But you know that I have to do this, right?"

"I know," He watched the coffee inside the mug stirred when he shook the mug absently, dark like night. Nighttime must be passed first before starting anew in the dawn. It was inescapable, just like this. Sooner or later, Romano would have to do it. But a small part of his mind knew of a possibility, unlikely though it was : maybe Romano's father would instead be happy finding him gone. Maybe he wouldn't have to tell him and everyone would be happy that way, wouldn't it? He felt like such a child. "Do you want me to come when you do? I mean, just for safety purpose?"

Romano actually chuckled and Antonio realized how silly he must have sounded. "No, bastard. Thanks, but no. I decided to tell him when I'm all packed up and ready to go. That way, I can run from the house immediately in case something does happen." He said the last part like a bitter joke and laughed humorlessly.

"Tell me on when you're planning to move out, okay?" He blurted out, disliking how Romano's voice had taken that dull tone again. "Hopefully it'll be after my final exam. I want to come, and I can help you with your stuff. I can even borrow Francis' car." He didn't want to feel so helpless again, anymore. He wanted to help as much as he could, and more than that, he wanted to be by Romano's side when he told his father. He wanted to pull him out of the way of the violent beating that might come and took him out of the house, driving him to where his father couldn't reach him, to his new home.

But Romano had made it clear that it was his battle and his alone, so Antonio had to be satisfied to be the one helping at the sidelines.

"Fine," He could hear the hint of a smile in his voice and felt the mood lighten bit by bit. "It'll be after your fucking final exam. I can avoid him that long anyway. Satisfied?"

Antonio breathed out a laughter that was almost shaky with relief. "Yeah! It's… awesome!" And they both laughed together when they realized he had actually said that word. "I guess Gil has rubbed off to me!"

"Don't! I don't like that albino potato! And I don't need that pervert's car."

"Come on, Roma. Do you really plan to carry all your stuff like that in the bus?"

"Why fucking not?"

They managed to retain the light atmosphere until the end of their conversation.

* * *

><p><strong>I hate this chapter. I know I need to write this so some things will make sense in the future chapters, but I honestly think this chapter is really bland -_-<br>**


	79. Courage

He felt like he was in a battlefield

all silent around him, corpses and fallen soldiers and the tip of the silver arrows glinting in the harsh sun

and him laying beneath the feet of the enemy's king's horse

his lips were parched and his throat was dry

his right side throbbed blue and purple on his might-be broken ribs

his head pounded a thousand shades of red that had started bleeding into his vision

everything was a blur and he had trouble to remember

"_Where are you going?"_

"_I…"_

no weapon, no defense, nothing as he looked at his father, swallowing into his dry throat and trying not to avert his eyes from the shades of grey and red and hate and everything he knew might come

"_Where are you going, I said!"_

"_I'm leaving."_

"…_What did you say?"_

"_I'm leaving this house."_

and then there were screams and father exploded red and grey and blue purple black against the wall, against the house, turning everything into his weapons

he remember was kicked on the stomach, the floor hard and hot beneath him as the kick was repeatedly delivered, blind fury, white and hot just like his vision was and he choked and almost pleaded

almost

_I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I won't do it again,_

_I won't do it again, please, please stop_

_please,_

he curled into himself instead of pleading, the words trembled on the tip of his tongue, so close to falling, but he wasn't sorry, he wouldn't apologize

not anymore

he felt his hair yanked and saw grey and hate and red and fury and white blindness when father shoved his face onto the wall and broke some of his teeth, the blood was cold and red and _all sin and love_ inside his mouth

_I'm sorry, I'm sorry,_

_I won't do it again,_

_please stop_

father was screaming, but he didn't listen

he tried to escape when he slid onto the floor but father followed him and kicked his side so he fell into the kitchen

_I'm sorry! I'm sorry! I won't do it again!_

he rolled onto his side when father tried to punch his face and his ear rang deafening white as the fist landed on it

he tried to crawl back to the hallway but then his ankle burst white and red in his ears and his vision and he stumbled, his thirteen-year-old self screamed and cried and begged inside his mind as father stepped on his eighteen-year-old leg, breaking one of his ways to escape without mercy

he hadn't known that he was still capable of crying out of physical pain, the tears stung his eyes and it was then that he realized his heart had been hammering inside his ears, loud and desperate and _scared, _his fear bled black and deafened him from everything

he'd die like this,

die all red and blue and purple and black on the floor, would be no more than a body to be found by the police or to be buried so to never be found, no more than a corpse inside the autopsy room or down in the earth,

would be no more than a news in a small column in the morning newspaper

would be no more than bitter tears that would be picked up and dried by the wind

would be no more than clouds reflected in green eyes

would be no more than memories to be recalled and forgotten and recalled, times and times as they opened old albums and hummed old songs

he didn't want that

_must run, must run_

_scared scared scared I'm sorry won't do it again please please_

his right side exploded like water balloon he'd seen in his classmate's birthday party back then when he was seven, spraying blue and purple and red inside his body as he tried to get up

_must run must hide no no don't hide must must_

_must fight back_

fight back no weapon where where anything _I'm scared won't do it again please please please_

anything anything please must fight _must run must fight fight fight_

a glass shattered into million pieces next to his face, a cookie jar inches from

must run quick quick quick where weapon anything anything _I'm scared fight fight fight quick_

a glass, a cookie jar, a plate, he had no time

no time quick quick the knife inside the drawer which drawer

which drawer must hurry hurry

another glass, a jar of jam, hurry hurry hurry

he pulled out a drawer, saucers and coffee cups and plastic fork spilled out and shattered on the floor and father screamed like an infuriated animal

on the counter hurry hurry he left it there to dry hurry hurry _I'm scared!_

and then the inside of his head shook and exploded and screamed and the floor was harsh cold under him, the shards of the bottle slid down his face in a trail of red

must hurry _it hurts so much_ must hurry _all red and sin red red red sin is red my sunflowers are red blood is red _

"You dare… to leave?"

must move must run must hurry must fight hurry hurry hurry on the counter _I don't want to die_

couldn't see where where must hurry run run _I don't want to die I'm scared must fight must run must fight_

he wasn't moving, the enemy king leered above him, eyes red with contempt and hate and fists itched for destruction

once father got his knife, his brush, his spear, everything would be over

must hurry

must hurry

must hurry

"Ungrateful"

mist and shadow everywhere he throbbed white and blue and purple and black all over red was hot on his head

where must stand must hurry must run must hurry must fight

"Useless whore"

_Now the old king is dead, long live the king_

his arm shook under his weight his ankle was still screaming but must fight must stand _too far not too far just crawl_

"Why were you even born?"

"I don't know"

he was shoved for talking back, shoved onto the counter and his eight-year-old self cried and apologized and begged _please don't be mad I'm sorry I'll be good please-_

_please love me_

there hurry your weapon your defense your fight don't ever back down

"Stay away."

the knife blinked back almost eerily at him in the white light of the kitchen, trembling in his hands but it was enough

his chest hurt his lungs ached but _now the old king is dead, long live the king_

"You-!"

"Stay away."

if he had to injure, if he had to kill, so be it

"I've had enough."

his seven-year-old self was drawing on the floor, his eight-year-old self was staring at the closed door, his thirteen-year-old self was staring at the mirror all blue and purple and painted his wrist red and _please love me_

his eighteen-year-old self was standing, had spoken, had had enough

father looked at him with his eyes wide and cloudy grey with disbelief and dying red of fury and hate and love both of them would never have from each other

with one hand supporting him on the counter, he wobbled out of the room

he dropped the knife when he'd opened the front door

he limped out of the house with his sprained ankle, the pain throbbed blue and purple and black and red and white all over

_Now the old king is dead, long live the king_

he didn't look back


End file.
